Harry had already been set free, but Ashby was held as a prisoner. At first he remained in the room where Lopez had found him, along with the Carlist guard, but after a few hours he was removed to another chamber. This was chiefly to prevent any possible attempt at escape which Ashby might make with the assistance of the other prisoners, who, knowing the weak points of the castle, might be able, with a bold leader, to strike an effective blow for liberty.
The moonbeams now were streaming in upon the stone floor where the six Carlist prisoners were lying. They were sound asleep, and their deep breathing was the only sound that might be heard. Two of them were in the bed, the other four were on the floor. But these men were used to roughing it, and on the flinty pavement they slept as soundly as on a bed of down.
Suddenly, in the neighborhood of the chimney, there was a slight noise.
No one in the room heard it, for they were all sleeping too soundly.
The noise ceased for a time; then it was renewed. It was a rustling, sliding sound, as of some living thing moving there.
After this the noise ceased.
There was another long pause.
Then came a whisper—
"Assebi!"
No one heard. The sleepers were all far away in the land of dreams.
The whisper was repeated:
"Assebi!"
There was no answer. Nor did any of the sleepers awake. Out of such a sound sleep nothing could awaken them that was of the nature of a mere whisper.
Of course this moving body was our friend Dolores. There is no need to make a mystery of it. She alone now had access to this room; she alone would come here. She alone, having come here, would utter that one word,
"Assebi!"
It was Dolores.
She bad come back to this room to seek after Ashby, to see him; if not, then to hear of him, and, if possible, to help him.
After assisting "His Majesty" to effect his royal escape, Dolores had thought for a few moments of surrendering herself. After further thought, however, she had concluded not to. She saw that nothing could be gained, and much might be risked by such an act. The knowledge which she had of all the interior of the castle gave her an immense advantage so long as she was free; and until she saw how things were it would be better for her to remain free. There would be great danger in confiding too readily. She knew that the Republicans were no better than the Carlists, and perhaps these were merely a rival band of the same ferocious marauders. Ashby, being a foreigner, was perhaps in as great danger as ever; and if so, she should preserve her freedom, so as to be able to help him.
This was a very sensible decision; but as Dolores was a very sensible girl, and a very brave one too, it was only natural that she should have decided in this way.
After waiting until the noise in the castle had ceased, Dolores approached the room and reached the place of descent. Here she waited and listened.
She heard the deep breathing of the sleepers. By this she knew that several men were now in the room.
But was Ashby there?
She could not tell.
That he was not asleep she felt sure. He would be expecting her, at any rate; and that would serve to keep him awake.
She determined to try still further. So she began, as cautiously as possible, to make the descent. She succeeded in doing this without awaking any of the sleepers. For a while she stood in the deep, impenetrable shadow and surveyed the apartment. She saw, where the moonbeams fell, the outline of figures on the floor and on the bed. The remoter parts of the chamber were hid in gloom.
Then she called, in a low and penetrating whisper,
"Assebi!"
There was no answer.
Dolores now felt sure that Ashby was not there; but in order to make assurance doubly sure, she repeated the call.
There was still no answer; and now Dolores felt certain that he had been taken away.
Once more she determined to satisfy herself as to the people who were in the room. It was a hazardous thing to do, but it had to be done. She must see. She had matches in her pocket. She resolved to throw a little light on the subject.
She struck a match. The flame burst forth. Holding it above her head, Dolores peered into the room. The flame illumined the whole apartment. A second or two was enough to show her the whole. There were six men. They were Carlists. They were prisoners. Ashby had been taken away.
So much was plain enough.
Ashby was not there. He had been removed—but how? That was the question, and a most important one. Was he free, or was he still a prisoner? This must be ascertained before Dolores could decide anything. It was not a question to be decided by mere conjecture. It was certainly possible that the captors of the castle, finding these prisoners held captive by the Carlists, had released them all; and if so, it was all very well; but Dolores knew the suspicious nature of her countrymen, and felt very much inclined to doubt whether they had set the prisoners free upon the spot. They were foreigners, and she knew that Spaniards of every party would consider that a sufficient excuse for detaining them.
The only way in which she could satisfy her curiosity and decide upon her own future course was by communicating with these Carlist prisoners, and learning the truth from them.
But how?
They were sleeping so soundly that something louder far than any ordinary cry would be needed to reach their ears. To call to them would, therefore, be useless. Some other way would have to be adopted. But in what way? That was the question that Dolores had now to answer. There was only one way. A risk must be run. It could not be helped. She would have to rouse them, and the most effective way, as well as the one most inaudible to those without, would be to venture into the room and rouse them in some way by touch.
A rapid view of all the risks of the case made her resolve to encounter them. She felt able to awake the sleepers without being discovered, and quickly made up her mind.
Gliding swiftly and noiselessly to the nearest sleeper, Dolores caught his hair, and giving it a sudden, violent pull, she darted back as quickly, before she could be discovered.
It was effectual.
The sleeper started up with a violent oath, and began abusing his comrade. This one also awaked, and a fierce altercation went on between them, wherein the one charged the other with pulling his hair, and the other denied it with oaths. In the midst of this Dolores had ascended into the passage-way, and stood there waiting for a chance to be heard. At length the noise subsided, and the two began to settle themselves for sleep, when Dolores, seizing the opportunity, called out, in a low but clear and distinct voice,
"Viva el Rey!"
The Carlists heard it.
"What's that?" cried one.
"Some one's in the room," cried the other.
"Viva el Rey!" said Dolores once more, in the same tone.
At this the two men started to their feet.
"Who goes there?" said one, in a low voice.
"A friend," said Dolores.
"Where?" asked the man, in surprise.
"Come to the chimney," said Dolores.
The two men went there, till they reached the fireplace.
"Where are you?" asked they.
Dolores did not think it necessary to tell them the truth just yet.
"I'm in the room above," said she. "I'm speaking through an opening in the flue. I can help you, if you will be cautious and patient."
"Who are you?"
"A prisoner. I know the way out. I can help you. Be cautious. Is the English prisoner with you?"
"No," said the Carlist, wondering what sort of a prisoner this could be, and why this prisoner asked after the Englishman.
Dolores questioned them further, and the men told all they knew. They had overheard the words that had passed between Ashby and Lopez, and told what they had heard.
From these Dolores gained new light upon the facts of the case. Having been a witness to the scene in the station at Madrid, she at once perceived that this enemy of Ashby's could be no other than that man in civilian dress, but of military aspect, with whom he had had the quarrel, who had been forced to leave the carriage of the Russells. This man had travelled in the same train. He had been captured, plundered, and then set free with the other Spaniards. Dolores conjectured that he had obtained somc soldiers, surprised the castle, and freed Katie. She also felt that Ashby was now a prisoner once more, in the hands not of a mere robber, but of his bitterest enemy.
Thus the whole truth flashed upon her mind.
But where was Ashby?
That she could not tell as yet. She could only hope, and make plans.
"Can we come up to you?" asked the Carlists.
"No," said Dolores. "Besides, there's no escape here. I can come to you, and I will do so before long. Do not sleep too soundly. Do not wake the others. Be ready to act when I come."
The men readily promised this.
"But why can't we go now? why can't you help us now?" they asked.
"We can't go away from this," said Dolores, "without the English prisoner. But with him we shall surely escape; so be ready to act when I give the word."
There is no need to enlarge upon Katie's feelings, as she sat in her lonely chamber, buried in thoughts which were both sweet and painful. We all know perfectly well what they must have been, for we all understand about that sort of thing. We've dreamed love's young dream, you and I, haven't we? and so we'll let this pass. As for Katie, I'm afraid she must, in her short experience, from all appearances, have dreamed a great many of love's young dreams; but never among all her dreams or waking thoughts had she known a sadder or more sorrowful hour than the present. Even her soul—volatile, buoyant, and lively—found it impossible for a time to rally. She sat with clasped hands and bowed head, looking care-worn, dejected, and utterly miserable; and it was in this state of mind that Lopez found her on the following morning.
He felt again disappointed (in fact, Lopez was apparently always feeling disappointed), though why he should feel so is somewhat singular, since Katie would have been more than human, or less, if she had shown a joyous face in such a situation.
Lopez gave a sigh by way of salutation. Katie did not look up, but knew perfectly well who it was and what he wanted.
"I hope you have found this room more comfortable than the last," he began at length, after the usual salutation.
"I'm sure I don't see what comfort one can expect in such a place as this," was the reply.
"I'm sorry that I haven't anything better to offer," said Lopez; "anything that is in my power to grant I will do for you."
"Those are merely idle words," said Katie. "There is one thing, and one only, that I wish, and that you can give: that one thing you have no right to keep from me, and yet it is useless to ask you for it."
"Useless—oh, do not say that! Tell me what it is."
"My freedom," said Katie, earnestly.
"Freedom!" said Lopez; "why, you are free—free as a bird!"
"Yes, as a bird in a cage," was the bitter reply.
"Ladies must always be under some restraint," said Lopez: "otherwise you are perfectly free."
"This, sir," said Katie, hotly, "I consider insult; it is nothing less than mockery at my distress. Is it freedom to be locked up in a cell and cut off from all my friends?"
Lopez gave a gasp. He was anxious to please Katie, yet this was a bad, a very bad beginning.
"Why," said he, "where can you go?"
"You will not even let me go about the castle," said Katie. "If you barred your gates, and let me move about inside, even then it would be imprisonment; but you lock me in this cell, and then you come to mock me."
"Great Heaven!" said Lopez. "Oh, señorita! won't you understand? Let me explain. This castle is full of rough, rude men. It would not be safe for you to move about. They are not trained servants; they are brutal and fierce. If you went among them you would be exposed to insult."
"My attendant comes and goes," said Katie; "she is not insulted. Why may I not be at least as free as she is?"
"Because," said Lopez, "you are a lady; she is only a common woman. Things would be insults to you which she only laughs at. I cannot allow you to expose yourself to the brutal ribaldry of the ruffians below. If a father had his daughter here, he would lock her up, as I do you, out of affection."
At this Katie turned her head away, with the air of one who was utterly incredulous, and felt the uselessness of argument.
Lopez was silent for a few moments. Then he went on.
"Listen," said he, "and see if you have reason to be angry with me. Let me tell you some little of what I have done. But for me, you would still be a prisoner in the hands of a remorseless villain, a common brigand. Listen to me, I entreat you, and then tell me if you are right in blaming me. As soon as I was freed I hurried on to Vittoria, the nearest military station. I had but one idea—the rescue of you from the hands of those villains. At Vittoria, after incredible effort, I succeeded in getting a detachment of men from the commandant. With these I set forth on the following morning, trying to find my way to you. It was an almost impossible task. The country, never thickly inhabited, was literally deserted. I could find no one to ask, and could find no trace of your captors anywhere. I did, however, what I could, and sought everywhere most painfully and perseveringly. At length, just as I was beginning to despair, chance—the merest chance—threw in my way a couple of fugitives. These, fortunately, were able to give me the information I wanted. One of them knew all about this castle, and knew that you were here. With this help I was able to find my way here. And now I was once more favored by the merest chance. Had I tried to capture the place in a regular fashion I should have been driven back, for this castle is impregnable, except to artillery; but my guide knew of a subterranean passage-way, and guided me through this into the court-yard. Once here, I found all the men in a careless condition, and made a rush upon them before they could get their arms. Over and over again I risked my life in the fight that followed, while pressing forward in my eagerness to find you before they could get you off. I found you at last. I was full of joy and triumph at the thought of rescuing you from a loathsome captivity. Judge of my surprise and bitter disappointment when I saw you so indifferent, when you met me so coolly; and, instead of showing gratitude, seemed rather angry at me than otherwise."
Lopez paused here to see the effect of his eloquent speech.
Katie looked up.
"It was not captivity, as you call it," said she; "and if it was, it was not loathsome. That word, señor, is far more applicable to my present condition."
"You don't know," said Lopez. "You can't understand. You must have been under some fatal misapprehension. Is it possible that you were ignorant of the character of your captor—a mere brigand—one who pretends to be a Carlist, merely that he may rob passengers, or capture them and hold them to ransom? Have you been all this time in such ignorance?"
"No, señor; I knew in whose hands I had fallen—he is a man of honor!"
"A man of honor!" cried Lopez, in amazement.
"Señor, you cannot know yet who he is. I must tell you. He is the King of Spain—His Majesty King Charles!"
"Don Carlos!" cried Lopez.
At this information he stood transfixed with amazement. Nothing was more probable than that Don Carlos had been in the castle, though he did not suppose that Don Carlos would rob travellers or hold them to ransom. And then there came upon him the bitter thought of all that he had lost by the escape of this distinguished personage. Had he captured him, he would have been certain of immortal glory—of advancement, of high command, honor, wealth, everything which a grateful government could bestow. And all had slipped out of his hands by the narrowest chance. The thought of that lost glory well-nigh overcame him.
"I didn't see him," he groaned, as he stood clasping his hands in an attitude of despair. "He must have left before I came."
"He left," said Katie, "while you were in the castle."
"Ah!" said Lopez, "how do you know that?"
"Because," said Katie, "I saw him when he left."
"But you were in that room. How could he leave that room?"
"I saw him when he left," said Katie, "that is all. You need not believe me unless you wish, but it is true."
Lopez had to believe her.
"And what is more," said Katie, "you will not remain here long. He will soon be back."
"Pooh!" said Lopez, "he can do nothing. He can't get in here. This castle is impregnable to anything less than an army."
"But you got in."
"But I've guarded that passage so that others cannot," said he.
"Do you think," said she, "that there are no other secret passages than that?"
Katie had drawn a bow at a venture. She knew from the statements of Dolores that there were secret passages all about; but whether there were any others that ran out into the country outside she did not know. Still, she thought she would try the effect of this on Lopez. She was fully satisfied with the result of her experiment.
Lopez started and stared.
"Other secret passages!" he said. "Do you know of any?"
"If I did I would not tell," said Katie.
Lopez was much disturbed. He did not know but that there really were other secret passages. The escape of "His Majesty" seemed to point to this. He determined to institute a thorough search.
"I'll find out every passage in the castle before evening," said he.
Katie smiled. She did not believe that he would find one. Lopez felt nettled at her smile.
"You don't believe I shall find them," said he. "If I don't find them I shall conclude that they are not there."
"A very safe conclusion!" said Katie.
Lopez felt angry. He had come hoping to make an impression on Katie by telling her of his love and devotion. In this he had been miserably disappointed. He had become angry and excited. He was no longer in a fit mood to appeal to her feelings, and he felt it. He therefore concluded that it would be best to retire for the present, and come again after he had grown calmer.
It was not much more than an hour afterward when Lopez paid Katie a second visit. By that time he had overcome all his excitement, and had settled upon a plan of action of a different kind. It was of no use, he saw, to appeal to Katie's feelings, and so he thought that he would try the effect of a little pressure of a moral character.
"I hope you will pardon me," said he, "for troubling you again, but it is necessary for us to understand one another, and I think you do not see exactly how I am situated."
At this Katie made no observation, but drew a long breath, and leaned back with the air of a martyr. This was excessively aggravating to Lopez, but he managed to smother his irritation, and proceeded:
"Pardon me, señorita, if I have to recall the past. I saw you, as you remember, some months ago for the first time, and found you not unwilling to receive my attentions. From the first moment of my acquaintance with you I loved you, and thought that I had reason for hope. Lovers are always sanguine."
"I can assure you, señor," said Katie, "I do not see how you could have found any reason to hope in this case."
Lopez felt this rebuff very keenly, but kept his temper.
"I was merely speaking of my own hopes," said he, mildly, "and you certainly were far more amiable than you now are."
"I'm sure, señor, I should be sorry to be otherwise than amiable, but sleepless nights and solitary confinement must necessarily affect one's temper. I can only say I do not wish to be rude."
"Pardon me—rude? That is impossible," said Lopez, grasping eagerly at this as at some small concession. "I only want you to give me now a fair hearing. Let me say, once for all, that I loved you then, and have loved you ever since, most devotedly."
"I suppose I have to listen," said Katie, "as I am your prisoner; but I will only hint that before speaking of love it might be as well to set me free."
Lopez drew a long breath. It was hard indeed for him to keep down his anger.
"Very well," said he, taking no notice of her words. "In the midst of my hopes there came this English Ashby, and at once I felt that I was pushed into the background. I bore my disappointment as well as I could, and in addition to this I put up with things of which you never knew. That man had a most insolent manner. He was wealthy. He was purse-proud, and excited universal hate by his overbearing ways. There was always the clink of gold in his voice, and even in his step. I have even received insults from him."
"Why did you put up with insults?" asked Katie. "I thought that no Spaniard ever allowed himself to be insulted."
"For your sake," said Lopez, in a tender voice. "For your sake I endured all."
"For my sake! I am at a loss to see why you should allow any one to insult you for my sake."
"Ah! there were many reasons why I had to be very, very patient for your sake. In the first place, I saw that you preferred him to me, and I feared that if I quarrelled with him you would hate me; and that would have been worse than death. Again, if I had quarrelled with him, you would have been known as the cause, and would have been talked about; and in Spain it is a great dishonor to a young lady to be talked about. But do not suppose that I would have allowed him to insult me with impunity. No; a day was to come for a settlement, and he knew it. When we left Madrid we had agreed upon a meeting."
"I didn't know that," said Katie, carelessly.
Lopez was struck with this careless tone with regard to a matter which affected the life of Ashby; for it was hardly possible that Ashby could have come unharmed out of a mortal combat, but he took no notice of it.
"Such," said he, "was the state of affairs up to the hour of our journey. Then the train was stopped, and I moved heaven and earth to follow you and effect your rescue, with what success you perceive; for here I am, and this castle is in my hands."
"I must protest," said Katie, with much dignity, "against your using such a word as 'rescue' with reference to me. I consider that I have been seized and thrown into prison. I do not wish to be unkind; I merely say this in justice to myself, and also to "His Majesty" the King, of whom I was merely the honored guest, with plenty of friends around me."
At this Lopez was struck dumb with vexation. Never could Katie be brought to look upon his really gallant and daring exploit in its proper light. And yet he could not disprove her assertion. He did not know what had been her position here. If the King had really been here, it was, after all, quite possible that she had been, as she said, an honored guest.
"'His Majesty,'" said Katie, in a calm and placid tone, "was most attentive. He did his utmost to alleviate our dulness. He paid us constant visits, and assured us over and over again that our stay was to be but short. Never have I met with one who was more kind, more considerate, and at the same time more lively. Always laughing and cheerful, he seemed more like some well-known friend than the great king of a great country. With us he forgot all the cares of his situation. He was gallant, chivalrous—more, he was even pleased to be merry, and to indulge in many little pleasantries. And now you perceive, Señor Captain, what the real change in my situation has been. It has been from sunshine to gloom; from laughter to tears; from bright and pleasant society to loneliness and despair."
This was putting it strong—very strong indeed, and Lopez felt it in his very soul. He at once gave up any further efforts in this direction. He had nothing more to offer in answer to such a statement as this. He felt it to be a fact that Katie had been happy before he came, and that she was now miserable. Whatever the cause was, there was the unanswerable fact.
He now adopted a severe tone.
"You are aware, señora," said he, "that when I captured this castle there were several prisoners."
Katie nodded.
"I suppose so," said she. "I don't know."
"Very well. Among them was your dear friend—"
"My dear friend? Who? Not 'His Majesty?'"
Lopez laughed bitterly. "How transparent that little trick is," he said to himself.
"By 'your dear friend,'" said he, "I mean, of course, Mr. Ashby."
"Mr. Ashby! Oh!" said Katie.
To tell the truth, by this time Katie had almost forgotten his existence. She seemed to herself to have lived years since last she spoke to Mr. Ashby. So she said, in an indifferent tone,
"Mr. Ashby? Oh!"
Lopez, of course, thought this a part of her assumed indifference, and smiled at his own penetration. He could see through her little arts; and he knew something which would soon force her to tear away her mask.
"He is arrested as a spy," said Lopez, abruptly.
"A spy!" said Katie; "Mr. Ashby a spy! Why, he hasn't been a spy. I don't understand."
"Whether he is one or not," said Lopez, harshly, "will soon appear, as he will be tried by court-martial to-day. In times like these no mercy is shown to spies. The country is swarming with them. They have a short trial, a quick sentence, and a summary execution."
"Still," said Katie, "I don't see how you can make out that Mr. Ashby is a spy."
Katie showed no horror at all, no excitement whatever, and Lopez was proportionally amazed. He had not expected this.
"I can't tell," said he; "the court-martial will deal with him. I dare say he is a spy, and I fully expect that he will be shot."
"Well," said Katie, "I dare say he must be. You seem to hate him so, and you say he has insulted you, so you will take this way of being revenged. All the same, I shouldn't like to deal that way with my enemy. Poor Mr. Ashby! It's very, very sad! Oh, what would "His Majesty" think if he were to hear this!"
Once more Lopez was struck dumb. He had counted with certainty upon producing a strong effect on Katie. By holding Ashby's doom over her head, he hoped to influence her. But this tremendous blow had fallen, and had evidently not been felt. For Ashby and for his fate Katie had nothing but the most commonplace expressions of pity—no horror, no grief, no despair, nothing of the sort.
In fact, so completely overcome was Lopez by this unexpected result of his interview with Katie that he left abruptly.
He was full of wonder. "Is it possible," he thought, "that this is her English stubbornness? Can she have so much of that infernal English stolidity as to be able to conceal so perfectly her deepest feelings? Impossible! Does she love Ashby? She cannot! Does she love anybody? No! Can she love? I don't believe it! What a girl! what a girl! And she seems so gentle, so timid, but in reality she's as bold as a lion, and as fierce as a she-tiger. By heavens! she shall be mine, if she's the Evil One himself.
"And that poor fool Ashby thinks she loves him! Bah! she cares no more for him than she does for me. The idiot! This is a sweeter vengeance for me than anything else. And, by heavens! he shall still be present at our marriage. For married we shall be in spite of fate, even if I have to gain her consent with the muzzle of my pistol against her brow."
While Lopez was thus chafing and fuming he was accosted by Harry.
Harry's position was peculiar, and not particularly enviable. He had been informed that he was a free man, and master of his own actions. Lopez had nothing against him, and by this time had forgotten even his existence. After his deliverance, Harry had gone mooning about, stared at by all in the castle, until at length he had fallen asleep.
In the morning he made a great discovery. This was the fact that his freedom to go was useless, and that he was still a prisoner here—a prisoner, though a voluntary one—a prisoner bound to this place by bonds stronger than iron manacles or walls of stone. These bonds were the feelings which had started up within him before he was aware, and now held him fast tied to Katie. He awoke to feel that his present freedom was far less sweet than his late captivity—that delightful captivity with its stolen interviews, and the sweet thoughts of her who was so near.
And where was she now? He had seen nothing of her. Had she fled? But how, and why, and where would she have fled from him? Had she been captured? But why? Who would capture her? Yet where was she? These were the questions that came thronging upon him to vex his soul and destroy his peace; so that it was for the purpose of finding out something definite about her that he had sought out Lopez.
He looked pale and agitated. Lopez, preoccupied though he was, could not help noticing this, and he thought that Harry must be suffering from anxiety about his friend Ashby. This, however, he immediately found, from Harry's first question, to be a great mistake.
Harry was far from suspecting the state of mind in which Lopez was—how full of love and jealousy and suspicion; how at that very moment he was eager to penetrate into the secret of Katie's heart. In fact, Harry suspected nothing at all, and so was not at all on his guard, but blurted out all his feelings.
"Captain Lopez," he began, "did you see a young English lady here last night—a Miss Westlotorn?"
"Yes," said Lopez.
"Did you? Is she—Did—Is—is—is she in—in the castle?" stammered Harry, in distress and deep agitation.
There was not one expression on Harry's face nor one tremor in his faltering voice that was not instantly marked by Lopez. There seemed in this to be some clue to the mystery.
"She is in the castle," said Lopez.
"Where—when—where?" said Harry, excitedly. "I've been looking for her everywhere. I've gone over the whole castle. I hope she isn't hurt! Is she safe? Did she fall into the hands of the soldiers?"
"She fell into my hands," said Lopez, bluntly.
Harry fastened on him a look of devouring anxiety.
"Did you—Is she—What did—When—that is—is she safe?"
"She is safe," said Lopez.
Harry drew a long breath.
"You see," said he, with a little more composure, "I have felt anxious about her. I have been worried, you know, and I have felt anxious about her—in fact, you know, I have felt anxious about her."
"She is kept out of the way just now," said Lopez, "on account of the riot in the castle and the dread we have of an attack. I don't care about letting the men know she is here."
Harry drew a breath of relief.
"I'm glad," he said.
Another sigh followed. Then he looked wistfully at Lopez.
"Would it be too much to ask—if I were to ask—if you would present me—to—to pay my respects to her, as an old friend?"
"Impossible, señor," said Lopez. "She is with the women; you couldn't visit her. You will be able to pay your respects to her after she reaches Vittoria, or some other place of safety. Until then it is impossible. As for yourself, I hope you are comfortable; and whenever you wish to go you may go."
Harry sighed, and stood as one in a dream.
"I think," said he, "I shall not go—just yet. Perhaps I may wait till the rest are going."
"Good-morning, señor," said Lopez, walking away.
Harry stood rooted to the spot.
As Lopez walked off, he felt that he had got hold of something which might be used against Katie. "Another"—he said to himself—"another poor fool who has become infatuated, like myself, but now the power is mine, and I will use it. Yes; perhaps she herself may feel toward this man something of what I feel toward her. If so—if so—I'll drag the secret out of her. But, by heaven! that poor fool is standing there yet. There's a mad lover for you! Ha, ha! Is he any worse than I have been? Let me see. Suppose I had been taken prisoner as he has been, shut up with her in a castle, then freed; would I not long to see her? Would not liberty be useless without her? That man can't leave his prison-house. She is here—she is here; that's enough. Yet what is she to him? Is not this man Ashby's friend? I saw them meet at the hotel in Burgos as I watched Ashby. They greeted like brothers, and went off together for the night. And he—why, he has fallen in love with his friend's betrothed! his friend's—ha, ha!—betrothed—ha, ha!—and, by Jove! why not? That girl could make a saint fall in love with her. That girl—why she oughtn't to be allowed to go at large, and therefore I've shut her up; and shut up she shall be for the remainder of her days, like a good Spanish wife. But I must have a few more words with my moon-struck lover."
With these thoughts Lopez sauntered back to where Harry was standing, fixed upon the spot where he had left him.
"Pardon, señor," said he, "but it seems to me that you take a deep interest in the señorita. May Ï ask if she is a relative? In that case some allowance might be made: she might not object to see a relative."
"Oh," said Harry, eagerly, his whole face gleaming with joy, "she will never object to see me. Ask her; ask her. She will be delighted to see me."
At this there were two distinct feelings struggling for the mastery in the breast of the Spaniard; one was exultation at the ready way in which Harry had fallen into his trap; the other was one of jealousy at Harry's easy confidence. He had never felt such confidence at finding a welcome reception from Katie. However, he was now on the right track, and he determined to follow it up.
"Are you a relative of the lady's?" he asked.
"Well, no—not exactly a relative," said Harry.
"Ah! perhaps a connection by marriage?"
"Well, no—not exactly a connection, either—"
"Well, you see, señor, in Spain etiquette is very strict, and our ladies are under more restraint than with you. I must treat this lady in accordance with my own feelings, and a Spanish gentleman would feel as if he were slighting a lady if he were to act out of accordance with Spanish etiquette."
"Oh," said Harry, earnestly, "she is an English lady."
"But I am a Spanish gentleman."
Harry drew a long breath. He was in despair. Oh, how he longed to be Katie's third cousin for a few minutes.
"I am very sorry," said Lopez, "but you see I have to be guided by my own sense of propriety. I suppose you are a very old friend, señor; yet I have been quite intimate with the señorita myself, and never heard her mention your name."
"Well," said Harry, "I have not known her very long."
"She used to speak freely of all her English friends," continued Lopez; "for you see she had not many, having lived so long in Spain; and so I was surprised to hear you speak of her as so intimate a friend."
"Well," said Harry, "my acquaintance with her is not of very long standing."
"You were not acquainted with her at Madrid?" said Lopez.
"No," said Harry, dreamily.
"Nor at Cadiz?" continued Lopez.
"No—not Cadiz."
"Then, señor, you could only have made her acquaintance on this journey," said Lopez, with a smile, which was not merely put on for a purpose. He felt like smiling, so successful had he been in getting at the truth.
Harry looked confused.
"Well, you see, señor, in captivity, or on a journey, people are very much thrown together, and they make friendships very fast."
"Oh yes," said Lopez, "I understand. In short, it amounts to this, that one day of such intercourse, so free, so unconventional, is equal to a whole year, or even a whole lifetime, of the formal intercourse of ordinary social life."
"Well, señor, I am sorry. I came back thinking that you might be some near relative or connection. My own ideas and habits do not allow me to permit what you ask; but the señorita will be her own mistress in time, and then of course she can see whom she chooses."
And now, for a second time, Lopez walked away, thinking that he understood all. Another victim, he thought. And in two or three days: in that time she has turned his head. And does she return his passion? Is she as indifferent to him as she is to me, and to Ashby? I will soon find out.