Thus far Brooke had rattled on in a strange, dry fashion; but suddenly he stopped, and then exclaimed,
"Good Heavens!"
"What's the matter?" asked Miss Talbot, who had seemed much amused at all this nonsense.
"Why, what have you done with your hair?"
Miss Talbot raised her hat from her head, and looked at him. Again he looked at her in silence.
Yes, it was all gone! That glorious hair, which awhile ago had been folded in great masses round her head, was there no longer. She had cut it off! It was short now, like the hair of a young man, and hung loose in wavy curls over her forehead. Yet so far from her appearance being marred or disfigured by such a mutilation, the result was actually more becoming to her as she stood there in her new costume. Few could have made such a sacrifice without serious injury to their appearance; but in this case there was merely a change from one character to another, and all the beauty and all the subtle fascination still remained.
"I couldn't have believed it," said Brooke, at length.
"What?"
"Oh, well—several things. In the first place, I couldn't have believed that any living girl could have made the sacrifice. In the second place, I couldn't have believed that the one who had passed through such an ordeal could come forth more glorious than ever. But the sacrifice was too much. However, it's done. Nay—never shake your gory locks at me. Thou cans't not say I did it. But where is it all?"
"It? what?"
"As if you don't know! Why, the treasure that you threw overboard—the child that you flung to the wolves, Russian mother!"
"Oh, you mean the hair! Why, I left it in there."
She pointed carelessly to the tower. At this Brooke went over and entered it. He saw a mass of hair lying there on the stone floor, where she had carelessly thrown it after cutting it off. This he gathered up very carefully and even tenderly, picking up even small scattered locks of it. Then he rolled it all up into the smallest possible space, after which he bound it tight in his handkerchief and put it in his pocket. He was, as usual, singing to himself snatches of old songs which expressed nothing in particular:
Which words had certainly no particular application to present circumstances.
When he came out again, Miss Talbot was seated on the tree in a meditative mood.
"I was just picking up the hair," said Brooke, in an indifferent tone. "If we were tracked here and pursued it might tell tales, and it would tell too much."
"Oh, how thoughtless of me!" said she. "But really I did intend to go back and throw it down into the torrent. You see, I was so anxious to know if my disguise was right, that I hurried out at once to show you."
"Oh, it's all the same. I've disposed of it better than you would have done."
"I shall try not to be so thoughtless again."
Brooke said nothing, but seated himself near her on the log.
"I'm sorry you don't smoke," said he, after a pause; "but I hope you don't object to my taking a small whiff now and then."
"Oh no," said Miss Talbot. "I like to see you smoking."
"Do you know," said Brooke, after he had again filled and lighted his inevitable pipe—"do you know, I think your character is almost perfect."
"Why, because I don't object to smoking?" asked Miss Talbot, with a smile.
"Well, I take that as one of the many straws which show how the wind blows. But do you really mean to tell me that you don't regret what you have done?"
"What, with my hair? What a question! Regret it? Not at all. It will grow again—in time. To use your own figure, when the sailor is struggling for life against the storm, he doesn't regret the treasure that he has flung overboard so as to lighten the ship. And do you think that I am so weak as to hesitate for a moment when your safety as well as my own is concerned? For, you see, I have to remember that while I am with you, you too are in danger. So, no hesitation is possible. How could I have the heart to ask you to help me, if I persisted in keeping up any kind of dress that might endanger both of us?"
Brooke made no reply, but sat puffing out great clouds of smoke. After some lapse of time he opened his mouth to speak.
"I wish you had heavier boots," said he.
"Yes," said Miss Talbot, "my boots are my weak point. But, you see, I never anticipated a walk of twenty or thirty miles. However, my dress is long, and perhaps my feet will not be noticed."
"Oh, it isn't the fear of their being noticed, but the danger that they may give way altogether in our rough walk, and leave you barefoot among the rocks."
"Well, if I find them giving way, I shall wrap rags around them before they go to pieces altogether."
After a further silence Brooke spoke again.
"There's one thing more," said he, "that may be mentioned. We may make good our escape to-night, as I hope, but then—we may not. To provide against occurrences of all sorts, it's as well to adopt certain fixed characters and act them out. You are a priest—remember that; never forget it. You have that breviary, which you will do well to look at from time to time. There's mighty good reading in that breviary, though I'm sorry to say I never could find it; but no doubt you'll do more justice to it than I did, especially if you understand Latin, which I'm afraid you don't. But, you see, it won't do for me to call you 'Miss Talbot.' We might be captured by fellows who understand English, and they would at once take the hint. And so suppose I drop the 'Miss,' and call you simply 'Talbot?'"
"That's a very good suggestion," said Miss Talbot. "The name will be my own, and familiar, and better than any strange name or title which you might invent. Oh yes, by all means drop the 'Miss.'"
"You will understand, of course," said Brooke, anxiously, "that in this proposal there is no disrespect, no attempt at undue familiarity, no—"
"Surely, surely," said Miss Talbot, earnestly, "it's hardly necessary to say all that. If you adopt that tone, I shall have to begin and tell you how deeply grateful I am, how much I owe you, how I long to do something to—"
"Oh! well. Come, now! if you go on in that way, I am shut up at once."
He relapsed into silence. After a few minutes he spoke again.
"Talbot," said he, in a strange tone, much softer than his usual voice.
"Well?" said Miss Talbot, gently.
"As I have dropped the 'Miss,' have you any objections to drop the 'Mister,' and address me by the simple and unconventional name of 'Brooke?' You see, it's very important for us, in our circumstances, to cultivate this seeming familiarity. If you were really a young priest, and I were really your friend and travelling companion, we should address one another in this simple fashion."
"I have no objection whatever," said Miss Talbot, "and I do not see why you should take such pains to explain. It is enough for you to ask. Whatever you say I will do."
"Say 'Brooke,' then."
"Brooke," said Miss Talbot, with a little shyness.
"And now, Talbot, I intend to use your surname only in speaking to you, and I hope that you will do the same with me. This is merely for practice."
"Certainly, Brooke."
The name came a little awkwardly at first, but after a little further conversation this difficulty passed away, and the two addressed one another quite naturally in this simple fashion. And now, as Brooke has chosen this name for Miss Talbot, I also will drop the "Miss," and call her henceforth simply "Talbot."
Brooke made Talbot lie down all the rest of the day, so as to sleep, if possible, and, at any rate, to lay up a good stock of strength for the formidable work of the approaching night. With her usual considerateness and docility, Talbot obeyed; and although she did not sleep, she certainly obtained an amount of rest of which she stood in great need.
At length the evening came, and the two ate their repast, after which Brooke secreted the remainder of the provisions in the tower by way of precaution. It was not necessary, he said, to carry that load, and if they were forced to return it would be there for their use.
They started a little after sunset. An hour's walk brought them to the road, at the spot where they had first met, after which they turned toward the place where Brooke had left the train on the previous day. Their pace was a moderate one, for the whole night was before them, and Brooke was anxious to save Talbot's strength as much as possible.
For about an hour more they walked along, until they came to where the country was more open. The moon was shining brightly, and thus far there had been no signs of life. But at this point there came up sounds from the road before them which were not a little alarming. Brooke laid himself upon the ground, and listened for some time.
"People are approaching," said he. "There is quite a large crowd. They must be Carlists. It will be dangerous for us to go on any farther. It will be better to hide here until they pass."
"Very well," said Talbot. "I quite agree with you. I should hate to go back again."
There was on their right, not far from the road, an old windmill, which stood upon a gently rising ground, and was quite a conspicuous object. This caught the eye of Brooke as he looked all around.
"There," said he, "is the place for us. These fellows seem to be on the march. They will soon pass by this and be gone. Let us hide in the old mill."
Talbot at once assented. They then left the road and crossed the fields. In a short time they reached the mill. It was deserted, and the machinery was out of order, but otherwise it was in good preservation. The door was open, and they entered. Having once obtained this concealment, they stood in the door-way anxiously watching. At length they saw a crowd of men come up along the road, and these they regarded with quick-beating hearts.
"Brooke," said Talbot, in a whisper.
"What?"
"What shall we do if they come here?"
"That's a solemn question," said Brooke. "We ought to have something to fall back on. Wait."
He went away for a few minutes, and then returned. As he came back to the door Talbot pressed his arm and pointed. Brooke looked out.
To his horror the whole band had stopped, and some of them were facing toward the mill as though about to approach it.
"What a mistake we've made!" said Brooke.
"They're coming here!" said Talbot, in a thrilling whisper. "What can we do? Can we fly?"
"No," said Brooke; "they'll see us. We have only one hope. There's a ladder here, and we can climb up into the loft. Come."
Taking Talbot's hand, Brooke led her to the ladder, and they climbed up into the loft, where they sat listening.
Talbot's anticipation was too true. The band approached the mill, and soon the two fugitives heard them all around.
For some time the two fugitives remained motionless and listened. There seemed to be a large number of men below, of whom a few were inside the mill, but the greater part remained outside. These kept up an incessant jabber; but it was of a discordant character, some talking about getting ready a supper, some about making a fire, some about forage, while at times a word would be dropped which seemed to indicate that they were in pursuit of fugitives. Nothing more definite than this could be learned.
Brooke, however, had been gradually creeping to one side of the mill, where there was a window, while Talbot followed as noiselessly as possible, until they both were able from their concealment to look out upon the scene below, which was in no way calculated to reassure them. They saw a crowd of men, about a hundred in number, who looked very much to Brooke like the train-stoppers of the day before. Their arms were piled, and they themselves were dispersed about, engaged in various occupations; some eating, some drinking, some smoking, while from them all a confused hubbub arose.
Half a dozen ill-looking fellows came toward the door of the mill.
"A fire!" said one. "Let's burn down the old mill. There's wood enough in it."
"Ay," said another, "wood enough for a hundred fires."
A shout of applause greeted this proposal, but the hearers above felt their hearts quail with horror. Talbot laid her hand on Brooke's arm. Brooke, to reassure her, took her hand in his and pressed it gently, and felt it cold and tremulous. He drew her nearer to him, and whispered softly in her ear,
"Don't be alarmed. At the worst, we can give ourselves up. Trust to me."
Talbot drew a long breath, and made a desperate effort to master her fears; but the scene below grew more and more terrible. The wild shout of approbation which followed the proposal to bum the mill was caught up by one after another, till at last the whole band was filled with that one idea. A dozen men rushed inside, and began to hammer, and tear, and pull at the flooring and other parts of the wood-work, while others busied themselves with preparing splints with which to kindle the fire.
"Brooke," whispered Talbot, in a tremulous voice—"oh, Brooke, let us go down."
"Wait—not yet," said Brooke, on whose brow cold drops of perspiration were already standing. "Wait. Let us see what they will do."
Talbot drew back with a shudder.
"The mill is of stone," said Brooke. "They can't burn it."
"But all the inside is of wood," said Talbot—"the floors, the doors, the machinery, the beams."
Brooke was silent, and watched the preparations outside. These grew more and more menacing. A great pile of wood was soon collected, which grew rapidly to more formidable proportions. If these prisoners hoped for life, they must leave their present hiding-place, and soon, too; for soon—ah, too soon, if that pile were once kindled—the flames would pour in, and burn all the inner wood-work, even if the walls were of stone.
At this moment a man came hurrying forward and burst in among the crowd.
"What's the meaning of all this nonsense?" he asked, in a stern voice.
"Why, we're burning the mill," said one of the most active of the party.
"Fools!" cried the other, "are you mad? It will attract attention. We shall be seen—perhaps attacked."
"Pooh!" said the man, impudently, "what of that? That's all the better."
The other laid his hand upon his sword, and looked as though he was about to use it; but a wild outcry burst forth from all the crowd, and with an impatient gesture he turned away. By his dress, which was the only uniform visible, and also by his bearing, he seemed to be the captain of the band, yet his authority did not seem to receive any very strong recognition. Still, the sight of this uniform was of itself encouraging to Brooke, who now at once decided upon the course which he should adopt. There was no longer time to hesitate. Already the match was struck, the next moment the flame would be touched to the kindling, and the fires would blaze up.
So Brooke called in a loud voice,
"Stop! stop! till we come down!"
At this cry they all looked up in amazement. The match dropped from the hand of the man who held it, and several of the men sprang to their arms.
"Who goes there?" cried the one who seemed to be the captain.
"Friends," said Brooke; "we'll come down."
Then turning to Talbot, he whispered:
"Now, Talbot, is the time to show the stuff you're made of. Courage, my boy! courage! Remember, Talbot, you're not a girl now—not a weak girl, but you're a boy—and an English boy! Remember that, my lad, for now your life and mine too depend upon you!"
"Don't fear for me," said Talbot, firmly.
"Good!" said Brooke. "Now follow me, and be as cool as a clock, even if you feel the muzzle of a pistol against your forehead."
With these cheerful words Brooke descended and Talbot followed. The ladder had not been removed, for the simple reason that it consisted of slats nailed against two of the principal beams, too solid even for Samson himself to shake. On reaching the lower story they hurried out at once, and the gang stood collected together awaiting them—a grim and grisly throng. Among them, the man whom Brooke had taken for their captain was now their spokesman.
"Who are you?" he asked, rudely, after a hasty glance at each.
Brooke could not now adopt the tone which had been so effective in the morning, for his gown was off, and he could no longer be the Curé of Santa Cruz. He kept his coolness, however, and answered in an off-hand manner.
"Oh, it's all right; we're friends. I'll show you our papers."
"All right?" said the other, with a laugh. "That's good too!"
At this all the crowd around laughed jeeringly.
"I belong to the good cause," said Brooke. "I'm a loyal subject of His Majesty. Viva el Rey!"
He expected some response to this loyal sentiment, but the actual result was simply appalling. The captain looked at him, and then at Talbot, with a cruel stare.
"Ah!" said he. "I thought so. Boys," he continued, turning to his men, "we're in luck. We'll get something out of these devils. They're part of the band. They can put us on the track."
This remark was greeted with a shout of applause.
"Allow me to inform you, señor," said the captain to the unfortunate Brooke, "that you have made a slight mistake. You are not our friends, but our enemies. We are not Carlists, but Republicans. I am Captain Lopez, of the Fourteenth Regiment, and have been detailed with these brave fellows on a special mission. You are able to give us useful information; but if you refuse to give it you shall both be shot."
In spite of the terrible mistake which he had made, Brooke kept his coolness and his presence of mind admirably.
Lopez, at this, gave utterance to a derisive laugh.
"Oh yes," he said, "of course, you are anything we please. And if we should turn out, after all, to be Carlists, you would swear that you are a Carlist again. Doesn't it strike you, señor, that you are trifling with us?"
"I assure you, Captain Lopez," said Brooke, "that I'm not a Carlist, for I'm not a Spaniard."
"You may not be a Spaniard, yet still be a devoted Carlist."
"Yes, but I'm not. I assure you that I'm a Republican. Shall I prove it to you and to all these gentlemen?"
"Try it," sneered Lopez.
"I'm an American," said Brooke.
"An American," repeated Lopez, bitterly. "Better for you to be a Carlist than that. Is it not enough for you Americans to intermeddle with our affairs in Cuba, and help our rebels there, but must you also come to help our rebels here? But come—what is your business here? Let's see what new pretence you have to offer."
"I am a traveller."
"Yes, I suppose so," sneered Lopez. "And who is this other?"
"He is a young priest."
"A young priest? Ah! Then, señor, let me inform you that as Spaniards we hate all Americans, and as Republicans we hate all priests. Spain has had too much of both. Americans are her worst enemies outside and priests inside. Down with all Americans and priests!"
The echo to this sentiment came in a shout from all the followers of Lopez,
"Down with all Americans and priests!"
With this cry a hundred fierce faces surrounded them, and glared at them with fiery eyes. It seemed as though their last hour had come. The crowd pressed closer, and clamored for their immediate destruction. The only thing that held them back was the attitude of Brooke, who stood perfectly cool and tranquil, with his eyes fixed on Lopez, a good-natured smile on his face, and his hands carelessly in his pockets. Close beside him stood Talbot, pale, it is true, but with a calm exterior that showed not one trace of fear. Brooke did not see her, and did not venture to look at her, but he felt that she was as firm as a rock. Had they faltered in the slightest degree, the storm must have burst; but as it was, the calmness of these two disarmed the fury of the mob, and their fierce passion died away.
"Captain Lopez," said Brooke, in a quiet and friendly tone, "you may have reason to hate my country, but I assure you that you have absolutely no cause for complaint against me and my friend. We are simple travellers who have been interrupted on our journey, and are now trying to get to the nearest railway station so as to resume it as soon as possible."
"How did you get here?" asked Lopez, after a pause, in which he again scrutinized severely the two prisoners.
Brooke had anticipated this question, and had made up his mind as to his answer. It was his intention to identify himself with Talbot, and speak as though he had all along been travelling with "the young priest."
"Our train stopped," said he, "and we took the diligence over this road yesterday. We were stopped again, captured and robbed by Carlists, and we have escaped from them, and are now trying to get back."
"Was your train stopped by Carlists?"
"No; the diligence."
"Where did the Carlists go?"
"I have no idea."
"Where did you come from last?"
"Barcelona."
"Where are you going now?"
"To England," said Brooke; "and finally." he added, "allow me to show you this, which I am sure will establish my character in your eyes."
With these words he drew forth a paper and handed it to Lopez. The latter took it, and one of the men lighted a bit of wood which served as a torch, after which Lopez read the following:
"Head-quarters, Vittoria, May 10th. 1873.
"This is to certify that the bearer of this is an American citizen named Raleigh Brooke, and is correspondent of a New York journal. He has permission to traverse our lines in pursuit of his business. CONCHA."
Lopez read it over a second time.
"A newspaper correspondent!" said he. "H'm! That means a spy." He handed it back again to Brooke, who replaced it in his pocket. "I'll think it over," continued Lopez. "I'll examine you both to-morrow and inspect your papers. I'm too tired now. You may both go inside again where you were hiding before. We won't burn you up."
At these last words the whole gang burst into a jeering laugh that foreboded something so horrible that the stout heart of Brooke quailed within him, as, followed by Talbot, he once more entered the old mill.
The Russell party, on reaching the castle, were all conducted inside, where they found themselves in an arched hall which has already been described. Traversing this, they ascended the massive stairway at the end, and came to another large hall immediately above the lower one. This had once been the grand banqueting hall of the castle, and was less rough and severe in its appearance than other parts; for while the walls elsewhere showed the unfinished faces of the rude blocks of stone, here there was an effort after something like ornament; yet this was so slight that even here the general air was still one of severe and austere graudeur, as if there had been wrought out in this stone-work the mind of the stern Goth who reared it, who held it, not for a home, but rather for a fortress, whence he could dominate the surrounding country.
If Harry had cherished any hope of prolonging his acquaintance with Katie he was now destined to be disappointed; for on reaching this upper hall they were informed that they would have to be separated—the men to go in one direction and the women in another. This arrangement was partly for the comfort of both parties, but still more for their safe-keeping, since escape would thus be far more difficult. Accordingly the ladies were taken away by some female attendants; while Russell, in company with Harry, was taken to their quarters on the opposite side of the great hall.
Here they found themselves in an apartment which was very long, very wide, and very lofty. The roof was arched, and all the stones were of cyclopean dimensions. At one end there was an immense fireplace. On either side there were narrow windows, which on one side looked down on the front yard inside the wall, while on the other they commanded a view of one of the inner courtyards. Harry, on his first entrance into the room, walked about surveying the place, and noting these particulars by the lurid glow of the torches.
This first survey assured him that, as far as appearances went, there was scarcely any possibility of escape. The walls were too strong to be penetrated in any way, and the windows were too narrow for any one to pass through. In fact, they were slits rather than windows. Moreover, even if it had been possible for any one to pass through the windows, the ground below was too far away to be reached without some means of descent. Finally, there were the armed men outside, and the extreme wall, which was too lofty to be scaled. On the whole, the prospect was highly unsatisfactory, and Hurry turned away from this first survey with a feeling of mild dejection. There was scarcely anything in the room which deserved the name of furniture. In one corner there was a rude structure with straw on it, which was intended for a bed. Opposite this there was a ponderous oaken bench, and upon this old Russell seated himself wearily. Here he sat, and as Harry completed his survey of the apartment, his eyes rested upon his unfortunate companion as he sat there, the picture of terror, despondency, and misery. Harry felt an involuntary pity for the man; and as his own flow of spirits was unfailing, he set himself to work to try and cheer him.
"Well," said he, "this is rather a dismal place, Russell; but, after all, it's better than being put in a vault underground."
"It's pup-precious kik-kik-cold," said Russell, his teeth chattering, partly from cold and partly from terror. "This'll bring on an attack of rheumatiz—that's what it's going to do. Oh, I know it!"
"Well, it a little chilly, that's a fact," said Harry, shrugging his shoulders. "It's a pity we couldn't use that fireplace. But what a tremendous fireplace it is! Why, it's as big as a barn. What do you say to our amusing ourselves by starting a fire? It would be great fun."
"But we've gig-gig-got no fuel," said Russell, with a shiver.
"Fuel? Why, let's cut up that big bench."
"What with?"
"Why, with my pocket-knife, of course. We could whittle enough chips off it to make a good big fire, and still have enough left for a bench. In fact, we could get enough fuel off that for a dozen fires. Why, man, there must be at least a cord of wood in that bench. Whittling's rather slow work, it's true, but in a place like this it'll be an occupation, and that's something. Prisoners go mad unless they have something to do; and so, just to save myself from madness, I mean to go in for fuel—unless you can think of something else that's better."
Rattling out this in his usual lively fashion, Harry went to the bench, and began a solemn examination of it, with a view toward whittling it up into firewood. Russell did not move, but regarded Harry with the same silent misery in his face. At last he spoke:
"What did-did-do you think they're a-going to did-did-do?"
"Who?" asked Harry.
"Why, these people—that kik-kik-captured us."
"These Carlists? Well, I don't know—seems to me they want to make some money out of us."
"Why did they let all the Spaniards go and kik-kik-capture us?"
"Oh, well, they think as we're English we'll probably have more money about us than their own countrymen, and be safer plunder also."
"Did-did-do you think they'll go so far as to pip-pup-plunder us?" asked Russell, in a voice of horror.
"Haven't a doubt of it."
"Oh Lord!" groaned the other.
"What's the matter?"
Russell gave a fresh groan.
"This kik kik-cursed kik-kik-country!" he at length ejaculated.
"Oh, well," said Harry, "it isn't the country, it's the people."
"Do you think they're really Kik-kik-Carlists?"
"Well, yes. I don't see any reason why they shouldn't be."
"I was thinking that they might be bub-bub-bandits."
"Well, there isn't any very great difference between the two, so far as we are concerned."
"But isn't there any law among the Kik-kik-Carlists? Can't we appeal to Did-did-Don Carlos?"
"Oh yes, of course—if we could only get at him, and if he could only get at us; but these two things are just what can't be done. And so I'm afraid we'll have to make up our minds to pay the piper."
At this Russell again gave a heavy groan.
"Don't be alarmed," said Hurry, in a soothing tone. "We can beat them down."
"No," moaned Russell, "we can't do anything. And I've got too much about me altogether."
"You haven't carried any large sum of money with you, surely?" cried Harry. "Why, man, you're mad!"
"But I didn't think there'd be any danger on the railway," said Russell.
"If your money is in bills of exchange you'll be right enough," said Harry.
Russell shook his head.
"No," said he, "it's worse than that."
"How?"
"My money is in bub-bub-bonds—Spanish bub-bub-bonds."
"Bonds!" repeated Harry.
"Yes," groaned Russell—"kik-kik-coupon bub-bub-bonds."
"Coupon bonds! Why, man, what in Heaven's name are you doing with coupon bonds in this country?"
"Why, they're Spanish bonds, and I was taking them out of the country to England."
"Whew!" whistled Harry. "In how much?"
"Thirty thousand pounds!" wailed Russell, in a voice of despair.
Another prolonged whistle was the result of this information.
"It's no use making it a secret to you," continued Russell. "I'll be searched, I suppose, and the bonds'll be taken."
"I'll tell you what to do," said Harry: "let me take care of them."
Russell shook his head.
"N-no; you'll be searched too. They'll be no safer."
"Well, then, hide them in this room somewhere."
"I don't know where to hide them," said Russell, dolefully; "besides, we may be taken to another room, and so it's no use hiding them here. I've been thinking of sewing them up inside the lining of my coat, only I haven't any needle and thread to sew with. Oh, if Mrs. Russell were here! I didn't think of this. I'd get her to stitch them inside my coat to-night. And now I don't know what to do. If it weren't for these bonds I should feel safe enough. But the amount is so e-normous!"
"Are they registered?"
"Oh no. I don't believe they register bonds in this miserable country, or do anything but steal them," groaned Russell. "I suppose they'll overhaul us all to-morrow."
"Very likely."
"Can you think of any way by which I can hide these bonds?"
Harry shook his head. At the same moment there occurred to him what Ashby had told him about certain Spanish bonds. If Ashby was right, then this must be the very money which belonged to Katie, and which, according to Ashby, Russell was trying to get hold of for himself. From this point of view it suddenly assumed an immense interest in his eyes, and drove away the thought of every other thing. Even the fire was now forgotten, and the bench was not desecrated by the knife.
"See here; I'll tell you what to do," said Harry, thoughtfully and earnestly. "The very worst thing that you can do is to carry all that money about with you, on your own person, mind that. You'll be searched, of course. To stitch them in your clothes is absurd. These people will examine every square inch of all your clothes, including your shirt-collar, your pocket-handkerchief, your silk hat, and your boots. They'd find the smallest fragment of a bit of paper, even if you had it hidden inside your bootlaces. Now, I'll tell you what you'll have to do. You'll have to get rid of that money of yours."
"Bub-bub-bub-but how?" stammered Russell, in fresh consternation.
"How? Why, hide it."
"Where?"
"Somewhere about here—and soon too—before you go to sleep."
"But suppose I am tit-tit-taken away, and don't come back again?"
"Well, in that case your only hope is to confide in me, and then if you are taken way I shall perhaps be left. It's not likely that both of us will be taken away from here. We shall perhaps be separated, and one will be left behind. In that case the one who is left can watch over the treasure. Besides, in case we should escape we shall know where it is, and we may be able to get the government to send a body of men here to help us recover it."
"Oh yes—the government!" said Russell, bitterly. "I know the government here—only too well. The government will send a body of men here to help us recover it, and then—why, then of course they'll keep it all for themselves, every farthing. Yes, sir, that's the Spanish style—every farthing. No; don't talk to me about the government. I'm bound to hold on to this, and not trust to any of your beggarly Spanish governments."
"But if you hold on to it you'll be sure to lose it," said Harry, in great impatience.
"I don't believe they'll examine me at all," said Russell, suddenly changing his tone.
"They will," persisted Harry, "as sure as you're alive, and that too before this time to-morrow. In that case you'll lose every penny of the thirty thousand pounds."
(And of course, thought Harry, it'll be poor little Katie's loss; and all through the infernal obstinacy of this pig-headed tailor!)
"Oh, well. I'll think it over," said Russell, cautiously avoiding any further discussion.
"You won't have much time for that," urged Harry.
"Oh yes, I will—plenty of time. I'll have all night, for I won't sleep a wink, and I shall have nothing else to do but to think over this."
This was droned out in a tone of utter despair.
Harry spent some more time in trying to change Russell's mind, but in vain; and at length he gave up, thinking that he would have a better chance in the morning. Besides, he was beginning to feel sleepy, and his arguments were growing somewhat incoherent; so he flung himself on the rude couch just as he was, "all standing," and in a few minutes was sound asleep.
Russell sat motionless for some time, until at length the heavy breathing of his companion showed that he was asleep. Upon this he rose, and went on tiptoe softly over to Harry's bed, and tried in various ways to see whether the sleep was false or real. Having assured himself that it was real, he took up the torch and began to survey the apartment more closely. Already, while talking with Harry, his eyes had narrowly scanned every corner of the room, and no place had appeared which could afford the slightest chance of concealment. From the very first he had thought of the stone pavement of the floor; but now, on examination, this proved to be far too ponderous to be moved by any force that he could command. Thus, after having traversed the whole room, he reached the fireplace.
This, as has been said, was of gigantic dimensions, being intended to hold enough wood to heat this vast apartment. Here among the mountains, inside this stone castle, the cold was sometimes severe, and the builders of the castle had in this way made provision for the comfort of its occupants. To this chimney Russell now turned his attention, in the hope that something might present itself here which could be used as a place of concealment. So he walked stealthily and noiselessly toward it, and on reaching it stood surveying its huge dimensions in great astonishment. Such chimneys may still be seen in many an old castle or palace in the north of Europe, though less frequent in the castles of Spain. This one was deep and wide and high, and our friend Russell could easily enter it without stooping.
He entered thus the great fireplace and looked around, holding his torch so as to light up the interior. Below, there was the pavement of stone, which seemed solid and immovable. Above, the chimney arose far on high, and through the wide opening the sky overhead was plainly visible, with its glittering stars.
Now, as Russell stood peering about, he noticed something in the construction of the chimney which struck him as rather peculiar, and this was several stones on the left side, which projected from the wall and were placed one above another. The arrangement was so singular that it at once arrested his attention, and being in search of a hiding-place for his treasure, he could not avoid examining it further with keener interest. This arrangement of the stones one above another was suggestive of climbing. They seemed intended for steps, and he therefore peered upward more curiously, to see how far these steps continued and what was the end. Looking thus upward, he noticed on one side what seemed like a niche in the chimney wall. It was so formed that it was not visible unless one were standing deep inside the chimney and looking up for it, and it seemed to be deep and spacious. No sooner had he caught sight of this niche than he determined to investigate it farther. For a few moments he paused to see whether Harry was still asleep or not, and then, being satisfied on this point, he began to climb up. So nicely were the stones adjusted that this was easy even to an inactive and heavy man like him, and after ascending three steps ho stood and peered into the niche. It seemed quite deep. He could not see any end to it or any terminating wall. What the design of it was he could not imagine. He saw, however, that it afforded an admirable place of concealment for his treasure, and he determined at once to avail himself of it. Here he thought it would be secure from discovery, and it might remain here undetected and unharmed for any length of time. As for fire, it was not likely that the chimney was ever used; but even if it were, there was scarcely any possibility that the flames could affect anything in this deep niche.
Russell now took from his pocket a bulky parcel, and leaning far inside the niche, he laid it carefully down. Then he held up the torch and allowed its light to fall into the niche, so as to see that all was secure; after which, feeling fully satisfied with his work, and experiencing a great sense of relief, he descended from his perch. Shortly after he extinguished the torch, and then, stretching himself out on the bed beside Harry, he resigned himself to oblivion.