UNIVERSITY OF CALIFORNIA 
 AT LOS ANGELES
 
 UNIVERSITY of CALIFORNIA' 
 
 AT 
 
 LOS ANGELES 
 
 LIBRARY
 
 IN 
 KEDAR'S TENTS 
 
 BY 
 
 HENRY SETON MERRIMAN 
 
 Author of "The Sowers" 
 
 £^ G *-f 
 
 > > > 
 
 -— . 
 
 NEW YORK 
 
 DODD MEAD AND COMPANY 
 
 1898 
 
 3 87
 
 Copyright, 1896 
 By Henry Seton Merriman 
 
 Copyright, 1897 
 By Dodd, Mead & Company 
 
 * • • *■ " * 
 
 
 « • • .• • • * 
 
 • ;•!••• • ••••• 
 
 • • • r < 
 
 SUntbcrsttjj tyxm 
 John Wilson and Son, Cambridge, U.S.A. 
 

 
 
 
 
 Contents 
 
 APTBR 
 
 
 
 
 PAGR 
 
 I. 
 
 One Sows . 
 
 
 
 I 
 
 II. 
 
 Another Reaps 
 
 
 
 II 
 
 III. 
 
 Like Ships upon the Sea 
 
 
 
 *i 
 
 IV. 
 
 Le Premier Pas 
 
 
 
 34- 
 
 V. 
 
 Contraband 
 
 
 
 47 
 
 VI. 
 
 At Ronda . 
 
 
 
 58 
 
 VII. 
 
 In a Moorish Garden . 
 
 
 
 68 
 
 VIII. 
 
 The Love-letter . 
 
 
 
 80 
 
 IX. 
 
 A War of Wit . 
 
 
 
 92 
 
 X. 
 
 The City of Discontent 
 
 
 
 102 
 
 XL 
 
 A Tangled Web 
 
 
 
 • ii3 
 
 XII. 
 
 On the Toledo Road 
 
 
 
 124 
 
 XIII. 
 
 A Wise Ignoramus 
 
 
 
 • 135 
 
 XIV. 
 
 A Weight of Evidence 
 
 
 
 146 
 
 XV. 
 
 An Ultimatum 
 
 
 
 • 157 
 
 XVI. 
 
 In Honour . 
 
 
 
 . 168 
 
 XVII. 
 
 In Madrid 
 
 
 
 . 179 
 
 XVIII. 
 
 In Toledo 
 
 
 
 . 191 
 
 XIX. 
 
 Concepcion takes the Road 
 
 
 
 202 
 
 XX. 
 
 On the Talavera Road 
 
 
 
 21 3 
 
 XXI. 
 
 A Cross-examination . 
 
 
 
 224
 
 CONTENTS 
 
 CHAPTER 
 
 • 
 
 
 
 PAGK 
 
 XXII. 
 
 Reparation . 234 
 
 XXIII. 
 
 Larralde's Price 
 
 
 • 245 
 
 XXIV, 
 
 Priestcraft . . , 
 
 
 
 • 256 
 
 XXV. 
 
 SWORDCRAFT 
 
 
 
 1 2.(>7 
 
 XXVI. 
 
 WOMANCRAFT 
 
 
 
 . 278 
 
 XXVII. 
 
 A Night Journey 
 
 
 
 . 289 
 
 XXVIII. 
 
 The City of Strife . 
 
 
 
 > 300 
 
 XXIX. 
 
 Midnight and Dawn 
 
 
 
 311 
 
 XXX. 
 
 The Dawn of Peace 
 
 
 
 32Z
 
 In Kedar's Tents 
 
 CHAPTER I 
 
 ONE SOWS 
 
 " If it be a duty to respect other men's claims, so also is 
 it a duty to maintain our own." 
 
 It is in the staging of her comedies that Fate 
 shows herself superior to more human invention. 
 While we with careful regard to scenery place our 
 conventional puppets on the stage, and bid them 
 play their old, old parts in a manner as ancient, 
 she rings up the curtain and starts a tragedy on a 
 scene that has obviously been set by the carpenters 
 for a farce. She deals out the parts with a fine 
 inconsistency, and the jolly-faced little man is cast 
 to play Romeo, while the poetic youth with lan- 
 tern jaw and an impaired digestion finds no Juliet 
 to match his love. 
 
 Fate, with that playfulness which some take 
 seriously or amiss, set her queer stage so long ago 
 as 1838 for the comedy of certain lives, and rang 
 up the curtain one dark evening on no fitter scene 
 than the high road from Gateshead to Durham. 
 It was raining hard, and a fresh breeze from the
 
 2 IN KEDAR'S TENTS 
 
 southeast swept a salt rime from the North Sea 
 across a tract of land as bare and bleak as the 
 waters of that grim ocean. A hard, cold land 
 this, where the iron that has filled men's purses 
 has also entered their souls. 
 
 There had been a great meeting at Chester-le- 
 Street of those who were at this time beginning 
 to be known as Chartists, and, the law having 
 been lately passed that torch-light meetings were 
 illegal, this assembly had gathered by the light of 
 a waning moon long since hidden by the clouds. 
 Amid the storm of wind and rain, orators had 
 expounded views as wild as the night itself, to 
 which the hard-visaged sons of Northumbria had 
 listened with grunts of approval or muttered words 
 of discontent. A dangerous game to play, this 
 stirring up of the people's heart, and one that may 
 at any moment turn to the deepest earnest. 
 
 Few thought at this time that the movement 
 awakening in the working centres of the North 
 and Midlands was destined to spread with the 
 strange rapidity of popular passion — to spread 
 and live for a decade. Few of the Chartists ex- 
 pected to see the fulfilment of half of their de- 
 sires ; yet to-day half of the People's Charter has 
 been granted. These voices crying in the night 
 demanded an extended suffrage, vote by ballot, and 
 freedom for rich and poor alike to sit in Parlia- 
 ment. Within the scope of one reign these de- 
 mands have been granted.
 
 ONE SOWS 3 
 
 The meeting at Chester-le-Street was no differ- 
 ent from a hundred others held in England at the 
 same time. It was illegal, and yet the authorities 
 dared not to pronounce it so. It might prove dan- 
 gerous to those taking part in it. Lawyers said 
 that the leaders laid themselves open to the charge 
 of high treason. In this assembly, as in others, 
 there were wire-pullers, men playing their own 
 game, and from the safety of the rear pushing on 
 those in front. With one of these we have to do. 
 With his mistake Fate raised the curtain, and on 
 the horizon of several lives arose a cloud no bigger 
 than a man's hand. 
 
 Geoffrey Horner lived before his time, inso- 
 much as he was a gentleman-radical. He was 
 clever, and the world heeded not. He was bril- 
 liant, well educated, capable of great achievements, 
 and the world refused to be astonished. Here 
 were the makings of a malcontent. A well-born 
 radical is one whom the world has refused to 
 accept at his own valuation. A wise man is ready 
 to strike a bargain with Fate. The wisest are 
 those who ask much and then take half. It is the 
 coward who asks too little, and the fool who im- 
 agines that he will receive without demanding. 
 
 Horner had thrown in his lot with the Chartists 
 in the spirit of pique, which makes some men 
 marry the wrong woman because the right one 
 will have none of them. At the Chester-le-Street 
 meeting he had declared himself as upholder of
 
 4 IN KEDAR'S TENTS 
 
 moral persuasion, while in his heart he pandered to 
 those who knew only of physical force and placed 
 their reliance thereon. He had come from Dur- 
 ham with a contingent of malcontents, and was 
 now returning thither on foot in company with the 
 local leaders. These were intelligent mechanics, 
 seeking clumsily and blindly enough what they 
 knew to be the good of their fellows. At their 
 heels tramped the rank and file of the great move- 
 ment. The assembly was a subtle foreshadowing 
 of things to come — of Newport and the march 
 of twenty thousand men, of violence and blood- 
 shed, of strife between brethren, and of Justice 
 nonplussed and hesitating. 
 
 The toil-worn miners were mostly silent, their 
 dimly enlightened intellects uneasily stirred by the 
 words they had lately heard, their stubborn hearts 
 full of a great hope with a minute misgiving at the 
 back of it. With this dangerous material Geoffrey 
 Horner proposed to play his game. 
 
 Suddenly a voice was raised. 
 
 " Mates," it cried at the cross-roads, " let 's go 
 and smash Pleydell's windows ! " 
 
 And a muttered acquiescence to the proposal 
 swept through the moving mass like a sullen 
 breeze through reeds. The desire for action rus- 
 tled among these men of few words and mighty 
 arms. 
 
 Horner hurriedly consulted his colleagues. Was 
 it wise to attempt to exert an authority which was
 
 ONE SOWS 5 
 
 merely nominal ? The principles of Chartism 
 were at this time to keep within the limits of the 
 law, and yet to hint, when such a course was safe, 
 that stronger measures lay behind mere words. 
 Their fatal habit was to strike softly. In peace 
 and war, at home and abroad, there is but one 
 humane and safe rule : Hesitate to strike ; strike 
 hard. 
 
 Sir John Pleydell was a member of that Parlia- 
 ment which had treated the Charter with con- 
 tempt. He was one of those who had voted with 
 the majority against the measures it embodied. In 
 addition to these damning facts he was a large 
 colliery owner and a local Tory of some renown. 
 An ambitious man, as the neighbours said, who 
 wished to leave his son a peerage, Sir John Pley- 
 dell was known to be a cold and calculating spec- 
 ulator, originally a solicitor in Newcastle, pausing 
 to help no man in his steady career of self-ad- 
 vancement. To the minds of the rabble this 
 magnate represented the tyranny against which 
 their protest was raised. Geoffrey Horner looked 
 on him as a political opponent and a dangerous 
 member of the winning party. The blow was easy 
 to strike. Horner hesitated — at the cross-roads of 
 other lives than his own — and held his tongue. 
 
 The suggestion of the unknown humourist in 
 the crowd commended itself to the more energetic 
 of the party, who immediately turned toward the 
 bye-road leading to Dene Hall. The others, the
 
 6 IN KEDAR'S TENTS 
 
 minority, followed as minorities do, because they 
 distrusted themselves. Some one struck up a song 
 with words lately published in the Northern Lib- 
 erator, and set to a well known local air. 
 
 The shooting party assembled at Dene Hall was 
 still at the dinner-table as the malcontents en- 
 tered the park, and the talk of coverts and guns 
 ceased suddenly at the sound of their rough voices. 
 Sir John Pleydell, a young-looking man still despite 
 his gray hair and drawn, careworn face, looked up 
 sharply. He had been sitting silently fingering the 
 stem of his wine-glass — a habit of his when the 
 ladies quitted the room — and although he had shot 
 as well as, perhaps better than any present, had taken 
 but little part in the conversation. He had, in 
 fact, only half listened, and when a rare smile 
 passed across his gray face, it invariably ov/ed its 
 existence to some sally made by his son, Alfred 
 Pleydell — gay, light-hearted, d'ebonnaire — at the 
 far end of the table. When Sir John's thought- 
 ful eyes rested on his motherless son a dull and 
 suppressed light gleamed momentarily beneath his 
 heavy lids. Superficial observers said that John 
 Pleydell was an ambitious man ; " not for him- 
 self," added the few who saw deeper. 
 
 When his quick mind now took in the import 
 of the sound that broke the outer silence of the 
 night Sir John's glance sought his son's face. In 
 moments of alarm the glance flies to where the 
 heart is.
 
 ONE SOWS 7 
 
 " What is that ? " said Alfred Pleydell, stand- 
 ing up. 
 
 " The Chartists," said Sir John. 
 
 Alfred looked round. He was a soldier, though 
 the ink had hardly dried upon the parchment that 
 made him one — the only soldier in the room. 
 
 " We are eleven here," he said, " and two men 
 downstairs. Some of you fellows have your valets, 
 too — say fifteen in all. We cannot stand this, 
 you know." 
 
 As he spoke the first volley of stones crashed 
 through the windows, and the broken glass rattled 
 to the floor behind the shutters. The cries of the 
 ladies in the drawing-room could be heard, and all 
 the men sprang to their feet. With blazing eyes 
 Alfred Pleydell ran to the door, but his father was 
 there before him. 
 
 " Not you," said the elder man, quiet, but a lit- 
 tle paler than usual ; " I will go and speak to them. 
 They will not dare to touch me. They are prob- 
 ably running away by this time." 
 
 " Then we '11 run after 'em ! " answered Alfred, 
 with a fine spirit, and something in his attitude, in 
 the ring of his voice awoke that demon of combat- 
 iveness which lies dormant in men of the Anglo- 
 Saxon race. 
 
 " Come on, you fellows ! " cried the boy, with a 
 queer, glad laugh, and without knowing that he did 
 it, Sir John stood aside, his heart warm with a sud- 
 den pride, his blood stirred by something that had
 
 8 IN KEDAR'S TENTS 
 
 not moved it these thirty years. The guests 
 crowded out of the room, old men who should 
 have known better, laughing as they threw aside 
 their dinner napkins. What a strange thing is 
 man, peaceful through long years, and at a mo- 
 ment's notice a mere fighting devil ! 
 
 u Come on ; we '11 teach them to break win- 
 dows ! " repeated Alfred Pleydell, running to the 
 stick-rack. The rain rattled on the skylight of the 
 square hall, and the wind roared down the chimney. 
 Among the men hastily arming themselves with 
 heavy sticks and cramming caps upon their heads 
 were some who had tasted of rheumatism, but they 
 never thought of an overcoat. 
 
 " We '11 know each other by our shirt-fronts," 
 said a quiet man, who was standing on a chair in 
 order to reach an Indian club suspended on the 
 wall. 
 
 Alfred was at the door leading through to the 
 servants' quarters, and his summons brought sev- 
 eral men from the pantry and kitchens. 
 
 " Come on ! " he cried. " Take anything you 
 can find, stick or poker — yes, and those old guns, 
 use 'em like a club. Hit very hard and very often. 
 We '11 charge the devils. There 's nothing like a 
 charge. Come on ! " 
 
 And he was already out of the door with a dozen 
 at his heels. 
 
 The change from the lighted rooms to the outer 
 darkness made them pause a moment, during which
 
 ONE SOWS 9 
 
 time the defenders had leisure to group themselves 
 around Alfred Pleydell. A hoarse shout, which 
 indeed drowned Geoffrey Horner's voice, showed 
 where the assailants stood. Horner had found his 
 tongue after the first volley of stones. It was the 
 policy of the Chartist leaders and wire-pullers to 
 suggest rather than demonstrate physical force. 
 Enough had been done to call attention to the 
 Chester-le-Street meeting, and give it the desired 
 prominence in the eyes of the nation. 
 
 " Get back ! Go to your homes ! " he was 
 shouting, with upraised arms, when the hoarse 
 shouts of his adherents and the flood of light 
 from the opened door made him turn hastily. In a 
 moment he saw the meaning of this development, 
 but it was too late. 
 
 With a cheer Alfred Pleydell, little more than a 
 boy, led the charge, and, seeing Horner in front, 
 ran at him with upraised stick. Horner half 
 warded the blow, which came whistling down his 
 own stick and paralysed his thumb. He returned 
 the stroke with a sudden fury, striking Pleydell 
 full on the head. Then, because he had a young 
 wife and child at home, he pushed his way through 
 the struggling crowd and ran away in the darkness. 
 As he ran he could hear his late adherents dispers- 
 ing in all directions, like sheep before a dog. He 
 heard a voice calling : 
 
 "Alfred! Alfred!" 
 
 And Horner, who an hour — nay, ten minutes
 
 io IN KEDAR'S TENTS 
 
 — earlier had had no thought of violence, ran his 
 fastest along the road by which he had lately come. 
 His heart was as water within his breast, and his 
 staring eyes played their part mechanically. He 
 did not fall, but he saw nothing, and had no notion 
 whither he was running. 
 
 Alfred Pleydell lay quite still on the lawn in 
 front of his father's house.
 
 CHAPTER II 
 
 ANOTHER REAPS 
 
 " Attempt the end and never stand in doubt." 
 
 During the course of a harum-scarum youth in 
 the city of Dublin certain persons had been known 
 to predict that Mr. Frederick Conyngham had a 
 future before him. Mostly pleasant-spoken Irish 
 persons, these, who had the racial habit of saying 
 that which is likely to be welcome. Many of 
 them added, " The young divil," under their 
 breath, in a pious hope of thereby cleansing their 
 souls from guilt. 
 
 " I suppose I 'm idle, and what is worse, I know 
 I 'm a fool ! " said Fred himself to his tutor, when 
 that gentleman, with a toleration which was unde- 
 served, took him severely to task before sending 
 him up for the* Bar examination. The tutor said 
 nothing, but he suspected that this, his wildest 
 pupil, was no fool. Truth to tell, Frederick 
 Conyngham had devoted little thought to the mat- 
 ter of which he spoke — namely, himself, and was 
 perhaps none the worse for that. A young man 
 who thinks too often usually falls into the error of 
 also thinking too much of himself.
 
 12 IN KEDAR'S TENTS 
 
 The examination was, however, safely passed, 
 and in due course Frederick was called to the Irish 
 Bar, where a Queen's Council, with an accent like 
 rich wine, told him that he was now a gintelman, 
 and entitled so to call himself. 
 
 All these events were left behind, and Conyng- 
 ham, sitting alone in his rooms in Norfolk Street, 
 Strand, three days after the breaking of Sir John 
 Pleydell's windows, was engaged in realising that 
 the predicted future was still in every sense before 
 him, and in no wise nearer than it had been in his 
 mother's lifetime. 
 
 This realisation of an unpleasant fact appeared 
 in no way to disturb his equanimity, for as he 
 knocked his pipe against the bars of the fire he 
 murmured a popular air in a careless voice. The 
 firelight showed his face to be pleasant enough, in 
 a way that left the land of his birth undoubted. 
 Blue eyes, quick and kind, a square chin, closely 
 curling hair, and square shoulders bespoke an Irish- 
 man. Something, however, in the cut of his lips 
 — something close and firm — suggested an ad- 
 mixture of Anglo-Saxon blood. The man looked 
 as if he might have had an English mother. It 
 was, perhaps, this formation of the mouth that had 
 led those pleasant-spoken persons to name to his 
 relatives their conviction that Conyngham had a 
 future before him. The best liars are those who 
 base their fancy upon fact. They knew that the 
 thoroughbred Irishman has usually a cheerful
 
 ANOTHER REAPS 13 
 
 enough life before him, but not that which is 
 vaguely called a future. Fred Conyngham looked 
 like a man who could hold to his purpose, but at 
 this moment he also had the unfortunate appear- 
 ance of not possessing one to hold to. 
 
 He knocked the ashes from his pipe, and held 
 the hot brier bowl against the ear of a sleeping 
 fox-terrier, which animal growled, without moving, 
 in a manner that suggested its possession of a sense 
 of humour, and a full comprehension of the harm- 
 less practical joke. 
 
 A moment later the dog sat up and listened 
 with an interest that gradually increased, until the 
 door opened and Geoffrey Horner came into the 
 room. 
 
 " Faith, it 's Horner," said Conyngham. 
 " Where are you from ? " 
 
 « The North." 
 
 " Ah ! sit down. What have you been doing 
 up there ? tub-thumping ? " 
 
 Horner came forward and sat down in the chair 
 indicated. He looked five years older than when 
 he had last been there. Conyngham glanced at 
 his friend, who was staring into the fire. 
 
 " Edith all right ? " he asked carelessly. 
 
 « Yes." 
 
 a And — the little chap ? " 
 
 « Yes." 
 
 Conyngham glanced at his companion again. 
 Horner's eyes had the hard look that comes from
 
 i 4 IN KEDAR'S TENTS 
 
 hopelessness ; his lips were dry and white. He 
 wore the air of one whose stake in the game of 
 life was heavy, who played that game nervously. 
 For this was an ambitious man, with wife and child 
 whom he loved. Conyngham's attitude toward 
 Fate was in strong contrast. He held his head 
 up and faced the world without encumbrance, with- 
 out a settled ambition, without any sense of re- 
 sponsibility at all. The sharp-eyed dog on the 
 hearth-rug looked from one to the other. A mo- 
 ment before the atmosphere of the room had been 
 one of ease and comfortable assurance — an atmos- 
 phere that some men, without any warrant or the 
 justification of any personal success or distinction, 
 seem to carry with them through life. Since Hor- 
 ner had crossed the threshold the ceaseless hum of 
 life in the streets seemed to be nearer, the sound 
 of it louder in the room ; the restlessness of that 
 great strife stirred the air. The fox-terrier laid 
 himself on the hearth-rug again, but instead of 
 sleeping watched his two human companions. 
 
 Conyngham filled his pipe. He turned to the 
 table where the match-box stood at his elbow, took 
 it up, rattled it, and laid it down. He pressed 
 the tobacco hard with his thumb, and, turning to 
 Horner, said sharply : 
 
 « What is it ? " ' 
 
 "I don't know yet — ruin, I think." 
 
 " Nonsense, man," said Conyngham, cheerily ; 
 " there is no such thing in this world — at least,
 
 ANOTHER REAPS 15 
 
 the jolliest fellows I know are bankrupts or no 
 better. Look at me — never a brief; literary con- 
 tributions returned with thanks ; balance at the 
 bank, seventeen pounds ten shillings ; balance in 
 hand, none ; debts, the Lord only knows ! Look 
 at me. I 'm happy enough." 
 
 " Yes ; you 're a lonely devil." 
 
 Conyngham looked at his friend with inquiry in 
 his gay eyes. 
 
 "M-m! perhaps so. I live alone, if that is 
 what you mean. But as for being lonely — no, 
 hang it ! I have plenty of friends, especially at 
 dividend times." 
 
 " You have nobody depending on you," said 
 Horner, with the irritability of sorrow. 
 
 " Because nobody is such a fool. On the other 
 hand, I have nobody to care a twopenny curse 
 what becomes of me. Same thing, you see, in the 
 end. Come, man, cheer up. Tell me what is 
 wrong. Seventeen pounds ten shillings is not 
 exactly wealth, but if you want it, you know it is 
 there. Eh ? " 
 
 " I do not want it, thanks," replied the other. 
 " Seventeen hundred would be no good to me." 
 
 He paused, biting his under lip and staring with 
 hard eyes into the fire. 
 
 " Read that," he said at length, and handed 
 Conyngham a cutting from a daily newspaper. 
 
 The younger man read without apparent inter- 
 est an account of the Chester-le-Street meeting,
 
 16 IN KEDAR'S TENTS 
 
 and the subsequent attack on Sir John Pleydell's 
 house. 
 
 " Yes," he commented ; " the usual thing. 
 Brave words followed by a cowardly deed. What 
 in the name of fortune you were doing in that 
 galere, you yourself know best. If these are poli- 
 tics, Horner, I say drop them. Politics are a stick, 
 clean enough at the top, but you 've got hold of 
 the wrong end. Young Pleydell was hurt, I see 
 — c seriously, it is feared.' " 
 
 " Yes ! " said Horner, significantly, and his com- 
 panion, after a quick look of surprise, read the slip 
 of paper carefully a second time. 
 
 Then he looked up and met Horner's eyes. 
 
 " Gad ! " he exclaimed, in a whisper. 
 
 Horner said nothing. The dog moved rest- 
 lessly, and for a moment the whole world — that 
 sleepless world of the streets — seemed to hold its 
 breath. 
 
 " And if he dies ? " said Conyngham, at length. 
 
 " Exactly so," answered the other, with a laugh 
 of scaffold mirth. 
 
 Conyngham turned in his chair, and sat with his 
 elbows on his knees, his face resting on his closed 
 fists, staring at the worn old hearth-rug. Thus 
 they remained for some minutes. 
 
 " What are you thinking about ? " asked Horner, 
 at length. 
 
 " Nothing ; got nothing to think with, you 
 know that, Geoffrey. Wish I had ; never wanted
 
 ANOTHER REAPS 
 
 17 
 
 it as I do at this moment. I 'm no good, you 
 know that. You must go to some one with brains, 
 some clever devil." 
 
 As he spoke he turned and took up the paper 
 again, reading the paragraph slowly and carefully. 
 Horner looked at him with a breathless hunger in 
 his eyes. At some moments it is a crime to think, 
 for we never know but that thought may be trans- 
 mitted without so much as a whisper. 
 
 " The miners were accompanied by a gentle- 
 man from London," Conyngham read aloud, " a 
 barrister, it is supposed, whose speech was a fea- 
 ture at the Chester-le-Street meeting. This 
 gentleman's name is quite unknown, nor has his 
 whereabouts yet been discovered. His sudden dis- 
 appearance lends likelihood to the report that this 
 unknown agitator actually struck the blow which 
 injured Mr. Alfred Pleydell. Every exertion is 
 being put forth by the authorities to trace the man, 
 who is possibly a felon and certainly a coward." 
 
 Conyngham laid aside the paper and again 
 looked at Horner, who did not meet his glance 
 nor ask of what he was thinking. Horner, indeed, 
 had his own thoughts, perhaps of the fireside — 
 modest enough, but happy as love and health could 
 make it, upon which his own ambition had brought 
 down the ruins of a hundred castles in the air — 
 thoughts he scarce could face, and yet had no 
 power to drive away, of the young wife whose 
 world was that same fireside j of the child, perhaps,
 
 18 IN KEDAR'S TENTS 
 
 whose coming had opened for a time the door of 
 Paradise. 
 
 Conyngham broke in upon these meditations 
 with a laugh. 
 
 " I have it ! " he cried. " It 's as simple as 
 the alphabet. This paper says it was a barrister, 
 a man from London, a malcontent, a felon — a 
 coward. Dammy, Geoff, that 's me." 
 
 He leapt to his feet. " Get out of the way, 
 Jim ! " he cried to the dog, pushing the animal 
 aside and standing on the hearth-rug. 
 
 " Listen to this," he went on. " This thing, 
 like the others, will blow over. It will be forgot- 
 ten in a week. Another meeting will be held, say, 
 in South Wales, more windows will be broken, 
 another young man's head cracked, and Chester-le- 
 Street (God-forsaken place ; never heard of it) will 
 be forgotten." 
 
 Horner sat looking at the young Irishman with 
 hollow eyes, his lips twitching, his ringers inter- 
 locked. There is nothing makes so complete a 
 coward of a man as a woman's love. Conyngham 
 laughed as the notion unfolded itself in his mind. 
 He might, as he himself had said, be of no great 
 brain power, but he was, at all events, a man, and 
 a brave one. He stood a full six foot, and looked 
 down at his companion, who sat white-faced and 
 shrinking. 
 
 " It is quite easy.," he said, " for me to disap- 
 pear in such a manner as to arouse suspicion. I
 
 ANOTHER REAPS 19 
 
 have nothing to keep me here. My briefs . . . 
 well, the Solicitor-General can have 'em ! I have 
 no ties — nothing to keep me in any part of the 
 world. When young Pleydell is on his feet again, 
 and a few more windows have been broken, and 
 nine days have elapsed, the wonder will give 
 place to another, and I can return to my . . . 
 practice." 
 
 " I could n't let you do it." 
 
 " Oh, yes, you could," said Conyngham, with 
 the quickness of his race to spy out his neigh- 
 bour's vulnerable point. " For the sake of Edith 
 and the little devil." 
 
 Horner sat silent, and after a moment Conyng- 
 ham went on. 
 
 " All we want to do is to divert suspicion from 
 you now, to put them on a false scent, for they 
 must have one of some sort. When they find 
 that they cannot catch me, they will forget all 
 about it." 
 
 Horner shuffled in his seat. This was nothing 
 but detection of the thoughts that had passed 
 through his own mind. 
 
 " It is easy enough done," went on the Irish- 
 man. " A paragraph here and there in some of 
 the newspapers ; a few incriminating papers left in 
 these rooms, which are certain to be searched. I 
 have a bad name — an Irish dog goes about the 
 world with a rope round his neck. If I am 
 caught, it will not be for some time, and then I
 
 20 IN KEDAR'S TENTS 
 
 can get out of it somehow — an alibi or some- 
 thing. I '11 get a brief, at all events. By that 
 time the scent will be lost, and it will be all right. 
 Come, Geoff, cheer up ! A man of your sort 
 ought not to be thrown by a mischance like this." 
 
 He stood with his legs apart, his hands thrust 
 deep into his pockets, a gay laugh on his lips, and 
 much discernment in his eyes. 
 
 " Oh, d — n Edith ! " he added, after a pause, 
 seeing that his efforts met with no response. 
 " D — n that child ! You used to have some 
 pluck, Horner." 
 
 Horner shook his head and made no answer, 
 but his very silence was a point gained. He no 
 longer protested nor raised any objection to his 
 companion's harebrained scheme. The thing was 
 feasible, and he knew it. 
 
 Conyngham went on to set forth his plans, 
 which, with characteristic rapidity of thought, he 
 evolved as he spoke. 
 
 " Above all," he said, " we must be prompt. I 
 must disappear to-night ; the paragraphs must be 
 in to-morrow's papers. I think I '11 go to Spain. 
 The Carlists seem to be making things lively there. 
 You know, Horner, I was never meant for a wig 
 and gown ; there 's no doubt about it. I shall 
 have a splendid time of it out there." 
 
 He stopped, meeting a queer look in Horner's 
 eyes, who sat leaning forward and searching his 
 face with jealous glance.
 
 ANOTHER REAPS 21 
 
 " I was wondering," said the other, with a pale 
 smile, " if you were ever in love with Edith." 
 
 "No, my good soul, I was not," answered 
 Conyngham, with perfect carelessness ; " though I 
 knew her long before you did." 
 
 He paused, and a quick thought flashed through 
 his mind that some men are seen at their worst in 
 adversity. He was ready enough to find excuses 
 for Horner, for men are strange in the gift of their 
 friendship, often giving it where they know it is 
 but ill-deserved. 
 
 He rattled on with unbroken gaiety, unfolding 
 plans which in their perfection of detail suggested 
 a previous experience in outrunning the constable. 
 
 While they were still talking a mutual friend 
 came in, a quick-spoken man, already beginning to 
 be known as a journalist of ability. They talked 
 of indifferent topics for some time. Then the 
 newcomer said jerkily : 
 
 " Heard the news ? " 
 
 " No," answered Conyngham. 
 
 " Alfred Pleydell, young fellow who resisted the 
 Chartist rioters in Durham, died yesterday morn- 
 ing." 
 
 Frederick Conyngham had placed himself in 
 front of Horner, who was still seated in the low 
 chair by the fire. He found Horner's toe with 
 his heel. 
 
 " Is that so ? " he said gravely. " Then I 'm 
 off."
 
 22 IN KEDAR'S TENTS 
 
 u 
 
 What do you mean ? " asked the journalist, 
 with a quick look; the man had the manner of a 
 ferret. 
 
 " Nothing, only I 'm off; that 's all, old man. 
 And I cannot ask you to stay this evening, you 
 understand, because I have to pack." 
 
 He turned slowly on Horner, who had recovered 
 himself, but still had his hand over his face. 
 
 " Got any money, Geoff? " he asked. 
 
 " Yes ; I have twenty pounds, if you want it," 
 answered the other, in a strangely hoarse voice. 
 
 "I do want it — badly." 
 
 The journalist had taken up his hat and stick. 
 He moved slowly toward the door, and there paus- 
 ing saw Horner pass the bank-notes to Conyngham. 
 
 " You had better go, too," said the Irishman. 
 "You two are going in the same direction, I 
 know." 
 
 Horner rose, and, half laughing, Conyngham 
 pushed him toward the door. 
 
 " See him home, Blake," he said. " Old Horner 
 has the blues to-night."
 
 CHAPTER III 
 
 LIKE SHIPS UPON THE SEA 
 " No one can be more wise than destiny." 
 
 u 
 
 What are we waiting for ? why, two more 
 passengers, grand ladies, as they tell me, and the 
 captain has gone ashore to fetch them," the first 
 mate of the " Granville " barque of London made 
 answer to Frederick Conyngham, and he breathed 
 on his fingers as he spoke, for the northwest wind 
 was blowing across the plains of the Medoc, and 
 the sun had just set behind the smoke of Bordeaux. 
 The " Granville " was lying at anchor in the 
 middle of the Garonne River, having safely dis- 
 charged her deck cargo of empty claret casks and 
 landed a certain number of passengers. There are 
 few colder spots on the Continent than the sunny 
 town of Bordeaux when the west wind blows from 
 Atlantic wastes in winter time. A fine powder of 
 snow scudded across the flat land, which presented 
 a bleak, brown face patched here and there with 
 white. There were two more passengers on board 
 the u Granville " crouching in the cabin, two 
 French gentlemen who had taken passage from
 
 24 IN KEDAR'S TENTS 
 
 London to Algeciras, in Spain, on their way to 
 Algiers. 
 
 Conyngham, with characteristic good-nature, 
 had made himself so entirely at home on board the 
 Mediterranean trader, that his presence was equally 
 welcome in the forecastle and the captain's cabin. 
 Even the first mate, his present interlocutor, a grim 
 man given to muttered abuse of his calling, and a 
 pious pessimism in respect to human nature, gradu- 
 ally thawed under the influence of so cheerful an 
 acceptance of heavy weather and a clumsy deck- 
 cargo. 
 
 " They will be less trouble than the empty 
 casks, at all events," said Conyngham, " because 
 they will keep below." 
 
 The sailor shook his head forebodingly, and took 
 an heroic pinch of snufF. 
 
 " One 's as capable of carrying mischief as the 
 other," he muttered, in the bigoted voice ^>f a 
 married teetotaler. 
 
 The ship was ready for sea, and this mariner's 
 spirit was ever uneasy and restless till the anchor 
 was on deck and the hawser stowed. 
 
 " There 's a boat leaving the quay now," he 
 added. " Seems she 's lumbered up forrard wi' 
 women's hamper." 
 
 And, indeed, the black form of a skiff so laden 
 could be seen approaching through the driving 
 snow and gloom. The mate called to the steward 
 to come on deck, and this bearded servitor of
 
 LIKE SHIPS UPON THE SEA 25 
 
 dames emerged from the galley with up-rolled 
 sleeves and a fine contempt for cold winds. A 
 boy went forward with a coil of rope on his arm, 
 for the tide was running hard, and the Garonne is 
 no ladies' pleasure stream. It is no easy matter to 
 board a ship in mid-current when tide and wind 
 are at variance and the fingers so cold that a rope 
 slips through them like a log-line. The " Gran- 
 ville," having still on board her cargo of coal for 
 Algeciras, lay low in the water, with both her 
 anchors out, and the tide singing round her old- 
 fashioned hempen hawsers. 
 
 " Now see ye throw a clear rope," shouted 
 the mate to the boy, who had gone forward. 
 The proximity of the land and the approach of 
 women — a bete noire no less dreaded — seemed 
 to flurry the brined spirit of the " Granville's " 
 mate. 
 
 Perhaps the knowledge that the end of a rope, 
 not judged clear, would inevitably be applied to 
 his own person, shook the nerve of the boy on the 
 forecastle ; perhaps his hands were cold and his 
 faculties benumbed. He cast a line which seemed 
 to promise well at first. Two coils of it unfolded 
 themselves gradually against the gray sky, and 
 then confusion took the others for herself. A 
 British oath from the deck of the ship went out to 
 meet a fine French explosion of profanity from the 
 boat, both forestalling the splash of the tangled 
 rope into the water under the bows of the ship,
 
 26 IN KEDAR'S TENTS 
 
 and a full ten yards out of the reach of the man 
 who stood, boat-hook in hand, ready to catch it. 
 There were two ladies in the stem of the boat 
 muffled up to the eyes, and betokening by their 
 attitude the hopeless despair and misery which 
 seize the Southern fair the moment they embark 
 in so much as a ferry-boat. The forepart of the 
 heavy craft was piled up with trunks and other 
 impedimenta of a feminine incongruity. A single 
 boatman had rowed the boat from the shore, guid- 
 ing it into mid-stream, and there describing a circle 
 calculated to ensure a gentle approach on the lee 
 side. This man, having laid aside his oars, now 
 stood, boat-hook in hand, awaiting the inevitable 
 crash. The offending boy in the bows was mak- 
 ing frantic efforts to haul in his misguided rope, 
 but the possibility of making a second cast was 
 unworthy of consideration. The mate muttered 
 such a string of foreboding expletives as augured 
 ill for the delinquent. The boatman was prepar- 
 ing to hold on and fend off at the same moment. 
 A sudden gust of wind gave the boat a sharp 
 buffet, just as the man grappled the mizzen-chains ; 
 he over-balanced himself, fell and recovered 
 himself, but only to be jerked backward into the 
 water by the boat-hook, which struck him in the 
 chest. 
 
 "A moil" cried the man, and disappeared in 
 the muddy water. He rose to the surface under 
 the ship's quarter, and the mate, quick as light-
 
 LIKE SHIPS UPON THE SEA 27 
 
 ning, dumped the whole coil of the slack of the 
 main sheet on to the top of him. In a moment 
 he was at the level of the rail, the mate and the 
 steward hauling steadily on the rope, to which he 
 clung with the tenacity and somewhat the attitude 
 of a monkey. At the same instant a splash made 
 the rescuers turn in time to see Conyngham, whose 
 coat lay thrown on the deck behind them, rise to 
 the surface ten yards astern of the " Granville," 
 and strike out toward the boat, now almost disap- 
 pearing in the gloom of the night. 
 
 The water, which had flowed through the sun- 
 niest of the sunny plains of France, was surpris- 
 ingly warm, and Conyngham, soon recovering 
 from the shock of his dive, settled into a quick 
 side-stroke. The boat was close in front of him, 
 and in the semi-darkness he could see one of the 
 women rise from her seat and make her way for- 
 ward, while her companion crouched lower and 
 gave voice to her dismay in a series of wails and 
 groans. The more intrepid lady was engaged in 
 lifting one of the heavy oars, when Conyngham 
 called out in French : 
 
 " Courage, mesdames ! I will be with you in a 
 moment." 
 
 Both turned, and the pallor of their faces shone 
 whitely through the gloom. Neither spoke, and in 
 a few strokes Conyngham came alongside. He 
 clutched the gunwale with his right hand and drew 
 himself breast-high.
 
 28 IN KEDAR'S TENTS 
 
 " If these ladies," he said, " will kindly go to 
 the opposite side of the boat, I shall be able to 
 climb in without danger of upsetting." 
 
 " If mamma inclines that way, I think it will be 
 sufficient," answered the muffled form which had 
 made its way forward. The voice was clear and 
 low, remarkably self-possessed, and not without a 
 suggestion that its possessor bore a grudge against 
 some person present. 
 
 " Perhaps mademoiselle is right," said Conyng- 
 ham, with becoming gravity, and the lady in the stern 
 obeyed her daughter's suggestion with the result 
 anticipated. Indeed, the boat heeled over with so 
 much good will, that Conyngham was lifted right 
 out of the water. He clambered on board, and 
 immediately began shivering, for the wind cut like 
 a knife. 
 
 The younger lady made her way cautiousW 
 back to the seat which she had recently quitted, 
 and began at once to speak very severely to her 
 mother. This stout and emotional person was 
 swaying backward and forward, and, in the inter- 
 vals of wailing and groaning called in Spanish upon 
 several selected saints to assist her. At times, and 
 apparently by way of a change, she appealed to yet 
 higher powers to receive her soul. 
 
 " My mother," said the young lady to Conyng- 
 ham, who had already got the oars out, " has 
 the heart of a rabbit — but yes, of a very young 
 rabbit ! "
 
 LIKE SHIPS UPON THE SEA 29 
 
 " Madame may rest assured that there is no 
 danger," said Conyngham. 
 
 u Monsieur is an Englishman ? " 
 
 " Yes ; and a very cold one at the moment. If 
 madame could restrain her religious enthusiasm 
 so much as to sit still we should make better 
 progress." 
 
 He spoke rather curtly, as if refusing to admit 
 the advisability of manning the boat with a crew 
 of black-letter saints. The manner in which the 
 boat leapt forward under each stroke of the oars 
 testified to the strength of his arms, and madame 
 presently subsided into whispers of thankfulness, 
 having reason, it would seem, to be content with 
 mere earthly aid in lieu of that heavenly interven- 
 tion which ladies of her species summon at every 
 turn of life. 
 
 " I wish I could help you," said the younger 
 woman, presently, in a voice and manner suggestive 
 of an energy unusual to her countrywomen. She 
 spoke in French, but with an accent somewhat 
 round and full, like an English accent, and Conyng- 
 ham divined that she was Spanish. He thought 
 also that under their outer wraps the ladies wore 
 the mantilla, and had that graceful carriage of the 
 head which is only seen in the Peninsula. 
 
 " Thank you, mademoiselle, but I am making 
 good progress now. Can you see the ship ? " 
 
 She rose and stood peering into the darkness 
 ahead, a graceful, swaying figure. A faint scent,
 
 3 o IN KEDAR'S TENTS 
 
 as of some flower, was wafted on the keen wind to 
 Conyngham, who had already decided, with char- 
 acteristic haste, that this young person was as 
 beautiful as she was intrepid. 
 
 " Yes," she answered ; " it is quite clear. They 
 are also showing lights to guide us." 
 
 She stood looking apparently over his head 
 toward the " Granville," but when she spoke, it 
 would seem that her thoughts had not been fixed 
 on that vessel. 
 
 " Is monsieur a sailor ? " she asked. 
 
 " No ; but I fortunately have a little knowledge 
 of such matters — fortunate since I have been able 
 to turn it to the use of these ladies." 
 
 " But you are travelling in the c Granville.' " 
 
 " Yes, I am travelling in the l Granville.' " 
 
 Over his oars Conyngham looked hard at his 
 interlocutrice, but could make out nothing of her 
 features. Her voice interested him, however, and 
 he wondered whether there were ever calms on the 
 coast of Spain at this time of the year. 
 
 " Our sailors," said the young lady, " in Spain are 
 brave, but they are very cautious. I think none of 
 them would have done such a thing as you have 
 just done for us. We were in danger. I knew 
 it. Was it not so ? " 
 
 "The boat might have drifted against some ship 
 at anchor and have upset ; you might also have 
 been driven out to sea. They had no boat on 
 board the ' Granville ' ready to put out and follow 
 vou."
 
 LIKE SHIPS UPON THE SEA 31 
 
 " Yes ; and you saved us. But you English are 
 of a great courage. And my mother, instead of 
 thanking you, is offering her gratitude to James 
 and John, the sons of Zebedee; as if they had 
 done it." 
 
 " I am no relation to Zebedee," said Conyng- 
 ham, with a gay laugh ; " madame may rest assured 
 of that." 
 
 " Julia ! " said the elder lady, severely, and in a 
 voice that seemed to emanate from a chest as deep 
 and hollow as an octave cask, " I shall tell Father 
 Concha, who will assuredly reprove you. The 
 saints upon whom I called were fishermen, and 
 therefore the more capable of understanding our 
 great danger. As for monsieur, he knows that he 
 will always be in my prayers." 
 
 " Thank you, madame," said Conyngham, 
 gravely. 
 
 " And at a fitter time I hope to tender him my 
 thanks." 
 
 At this moment a voice from the " Granville " 
 hailed the boat, asking whether all were well and 
 Mr. Conyngham on board. Being reassured on 
 this point, the mate apparently attended to another 
 matter requiring his attention, the mingled cries 
 and expostulations of the cabin-boy sufficiently 
 indicating: its nature. 
 
 The boat, under Conyngham's strong and steady 
 strokes, now came slowly and without mishap 
 alongside the great black hull of the vessel, and it
 
 32 IN KEDAR'S TENTS- 
 
 soon became manifest that, although all danger 
 was past, there yet remained difficulty ahead ; 
 for when the boat was made fast and the ladder 
 lowered, the elder of the two ladies firmly and 
 emphatically denied her ability to make its ascent. 
 The French boatman, shivering in a borrowed 
 greatcoat, and with a vociferation which flavoured 
 the air with cognac, added his entreaties to those 
 of the mate and steward. In the small boat 
 Conyngham, in French, and the lady's daughter, 
 in Spanish, represented that at least half of the 
 heavenly host having intervened to save her from 
 so great a peril as that safely passed through, could 
 surely accomplish this smaller feat with ease. But 
 the lady still hesitated, and the mate, having clam- 
 bered down into the boat, grabbed Conyngham's 
 arm with a large and not unkindly hand, and 
 pushed him forcibly toward the ladder. 
 
 " You had n't no business, Mr. Conyngham," 
 he said gruffly, " to leave the ship like that, and 
 like as not you 've got your death of cold. Just 
 you get aboard and leave these women to me. 
 You get to your bunk, mister, and stooard '11 bring 
 you something hot." 
 
 There was naught but obedience in the matter, 
 and Conyngham was soon between the blankets, 
 alternately shivering and burning in the first stages 
 of a severe chill. 
 
 The captain having come on board, the " Gran- 
 ville " presently weighed anchor, and on the bosom
 
 LIKE SHIPS UPON THE SEA 33 
 i 
 
 of an ebbing tide turned her blunt prow toward 
 
 the winter sea. The waves out there beat high, 
 
 and before the lights of Paullac, then a mere 
 
 cluster of fishers' huts, had passed away astern, 
 
 the good ship was lifting her bow with a sense of 
 
 anticipation, while her great wooden beams and 
 
 knees began to strain and creak. 
 
 During the following days, while the sense of 
 spring and warmth slowly gave life to those who 
 could breathe the air on deck, Conyngham lay in 
 his little cabin and heeded nothing, for when the 
 fever left him he was only conscious of a great 
 lassitude, and scarce could raise himself to take 
 such nourishment as the steward, with a rough but 
 kindly skill, prepared for him. 
 
 " Why the deuce I ever came, why the deuce I 
 ever went overboard after a couple of senoras, I 
 don't know," he repeated to himself during the 
 long- hours of that long watch below. 
 
 Why, indeed ? except that youth must needs go 
 forth into the world and play the only stake it owns 
 there. Nor is Frederick Conyngham the first who, 
 having no knowledge of the game of life, throws 
 all upon the board to wait upon the hazard of 
 a die.
 
 
 CHAPTER IV 
 
 LE PREMIER PAS 
 " Be as one that knoweth and yet holdeth his tongue." 
 
 The little town of Algeciras lies, as many know, 
 within sight of Gibraltar, and separated from that 
 stronghold by a broad bay. It is on the mainland 
 of Spain, and in direct communication by road 
 with the great port of Cadiz. Another road, 
 little better than a bridle-path, runs northward 
 toward Ximena, and through the corkwood forests 
 of that plain toward the mountain ranges that rise 
 between Ronda and the sea. 
 
 By this bridle-path, it is whispered, a vast 
 smuggled commerce has ever found passage to the 
 mainland, and scarce a boatman or passenger lands 
 at Algeciras from Gibraltar but carries somewhere 
 on his person as much tobacco as he may hope to 
 conceal with safety. Algeciras, with its fair, 
 white houses, its prim church and sleepy quay, 
 where the blue waters lap and sparkle in innocent 
 sunlight, is, it is to be feared, a town of small 
 virtue, and the habitation of scoundrels ; for this 
 is the stronghold of those contrabandist a whom song 
 and legend have praised as the boldest, the merri-
 
 LE PREMIER PAS 35 
 
 est, the most romantic of law-breakers. Indeed, 
 in this country the man who can boast of a 
 smuggling ancestry holds high his head and looks 
 down on honest folk. 
 
 The " Granville," having dropped anchor to the 
 north of the rough stone pier, was soon disburdened 
 of her passengers, the ladies going ashore with 
 undisguised delight, and leaving behind them many 
 gracious messages of thanks to the gentleman 
 whose gallantry had resulted so disastrously, for 
 Conyngham was still in bed, though now nearly 
 recovered. Truth to tell, he did not hurry to 
 make his appearance in the general cabin, and came 
 on deck a few hours after the departure of the 
 ladies, whose gratitude he desired to avoid. 
 
 Two days of the peerless sunshine of these 
 southern waters completely restored him to health, 
 and he prepared to go ashore. It was afternoon 
 when his boat touched the beach, and the idlers, 
 without whom no Mediterranean seaboard is 
 complete, having passed the heat of the day in a 
 philosophic apathy, amounting in many cases to a 
 siesta, now roused themselves sufficiently to take 
 a dignified and indifferent interest in the new 
 arrival. A number of boys, an old soldier, several 
 artillery men from the pretty and absolutely useless 
 fort, a priest, and a female vendor of oranges put 
 themselves about so much as to congregate in a 
 little knot at the spot where Conyngham landed. 
 
 " Body of Bacchus ! " said the priest, with a
 
 36 IN KEDAR'S TENTS 
 
 pinch of snuff poised before his long nose j " an 
 Englishman. See his gold watch-chain." 
 
 This remark called forth several monosyllabic 
 sounds, and the onlookers watched the safe dis- 
 charge of Conyngham's personal effects with a 
 characteristic placidity of demeanour, which was 
 at once tolerant and gently surprised. That any 
 one should have the energy to come ashore when 
 he was comfortable on board, or leave the shore 
 when amply provided there with sunshine, elbow- 
 room, and other necessaries of life, presented itself 
 to them as a fact worthy of note, but not of 
 emulation. The happiest man is he who has 
 reduced the necessities of life to a minimum. 
 
 No one offered to assist Conyngham. In Spain 
 the onlooker keeps his hands in his pockets. 
 
 " The English, see you, travel for pleasure," 
 said the old soldier, nodding his head in the direc- 
 tion of Gibraltar, pink and shimmering across the 
 bay. 
 
 The priest brushed some stray grains of snuff 
 from the front of his faded cassock, once black, 
 but now of a greeny-brown. He was a singularly 
 tall man, gaunt and gray, with deep lines drawn 
 downward from eye to chin. His mouth was 
 large and tender, with a humorous corner ever 
 awaiting a jest. His eyes were sombre and deeply 
 shaded by gray brows, but one of them had a 
 twinkle lurking and waiting, as in the corner of 
 his mouth.
 
 LE PREMIER PAS 37 
 
 u Every one stretches his legs according to the 
 length of his coverlet," he said, and, turning, he 
 courteously raised his hat to Conyngham, who 
 passed at that moment on his way to the hotel. 
 The little knot of onlookers broke up, and the 
 boys wandered toward the fort, before the gate of 
 which a game at bowls was in progress. 
 
 " The padre has a hungry look," reflected 
 Conyngham. " Think I '11 invite him to dinner." 
 
 For Geoffrey Horner had succeded in conveying 
 more money to the man who had taken his sins 
 upon himself, and while Conyngham possessed 
 money he usually had the desire to spend it. 
 
 Conyngham went to the Fonda della Marina, 
 which stands to-day, a house of small comfort and 
 no great outward cleanliness ; but, as in most 
 Spanish inns, the performance was better than the 
 promise, and the bedroom offered to the traveller was 
 nothing worse than bare and ill-furnished. With 
 what Spanish he at this time possessed the English- 
 man made known his wants, and inquired of the 
 means of prosecuting his journey to Ronda. 
 
 " You know the Captain-General Vincente of 
 Ronda ? " he asked. 
 
 " But yes ; by reputation. Who does not in 
 Andalusia ? " replied the host, a stout man who 
 had once cooked for a military mess at Gibraltar, 
 and professed himself acquainted with the require- 
 ments of English gentlemen. 
 
 " I have a letter to General Vincente, and
 
 38 IN KEDAR'S TENTS 
 
 must go to Ronda as soon as possible. These are 
 stirring times in Spain." 
 
 The man's bland face suddenly assumed an air 
 of cunning, and he glanced over his shoulder to see 
 that none overheard. 
 
 " Your excellency is right," he answered. " But 
 for such as myself one side is as good as another. 
 Is it not so ? Carlist or Christino — the money is 
 the same." 
 
 " But here in the South there are no Carlists." 
 
 " Who knows ? " said the innkeeper, with out- 
 spread hands. " Anything that his excellency 
 requires shall be forthcoming," he added grandi- 
 osely. " This is the dining-room, and here at the 
 side a little saloon where the ladies sit. But at 
 present we have only gentlemen in the hotel, it 
 being the winter time." 
 
 " Then you have other guests ? " inquired 
 Conyngham. 
 
 " But yes ; always. In Algeciras there are 
 always travellers — noblemen, like his excellency, 
 for pleasure ; others for commerce, the government, 
 the politics." 
 
 " No flies enter a shut mouth, my friend," said 
 a voice at the door, and both turned to see the 
 priest who had witnessed Conyngham's arrival 
 standing in the doorway. 
 
 " Pardon 3 senor," said the old man, coming 
 forward with his shabby hat in his hand — " pardon 
 my interruption. I came at an opportune moment, 
 for I heard the word politics."
 
 LE PREMIER PAS 
 
 39 
 
 He turned and shook a lean finger at the inn- 
 keeper, who was backing toward the door with 
 many bows. 
 
 " Ah, bad Miguel ! " he said. " Will you make 
 it impossible for gentlemen to put up at your execra- 
 ble inn ? The man's cooking is superior to his 
 discretion, senor. I, too, am a traveller, and for 
 the moment a guest here. I have the honour. 
 My name is Concha, the Padre Concha, a priest, 
 as you see." 
 
 Conyngham nodded and laughed frankly. 
 
 " Glad to meet you," he said. " I saw you as 
 I came along. My name is Conyngham, and I 
 am an Englishman, as you hear. I know very 
 little Spanish." 
 
 " That will come, that will come," said the 
 priest, moving toward the window. " Perhaps too 
 soon, if you are going to stay any length of time in 
 this country. Let me advise you ; do not learn 
 our language too quickly." 
 
 He shook his head and moved toward the open 
 window. 
 
 " See to your girths before you mount. Eh ? 
 Here is the veranda, where it is pleasant in the 
 afternoon. Shall we be seated ? That chair has 
 but three legs. Allow me ; this one is better." 
 
 He spoke with the grave courtesy of his country- 
 men, for every Spaniard, even the lowest muleteer, 
 esteems himself a gentleman, and knows how to 
 act as such. The Padre Concha had a pleasant
 
 40 IN KEDAR'S TENTS 
 
 voice, and a habit of gesticulating slowly with one 
 large and not too clean hand that suggested the 
 pulpit. He had led the way to a spacious veranda, 
 where there were small tables and chairs, and at 
 the outer corners orange-trees in square green 
 boxes. 
 
 " We will have a bottle of wine. Is it not so ? 
 Yes," he said, and gravely clapped his hands to- 
 gether to summon the waiter, an Oriental custom 
 still in use in the Peninsula. 
 
 The wine was brought and duly uncorked, dur- 
 ing which ceremony the priest waited and watched 
 with the preoccupied air of a host careful for the 
 entertainment of his guest. He tasted the wine 
 critically. 
 
 " It might be worse," he said. " I beg you to 
 excuse it not being better." 
 
 There was something simple in the old man's 
 manner that won Conyngham's regard. 
 
 " The wine is excellent," he said. " It is my 
 welcome to Spain." 
 
 " Ah ! Then this is your first visit to this 
 country," the priest said indifferently, his eyes 
 wandering to the open sea, where a few feluccas 
 lay becalmed. 
 
 « Yes." 
 
 Conyngham turned and looked toward the sea 
 also. It was late in the afternoon, and a certain 
 drowsiness of the atmosphere made conversation 
 even between comparative strangers a slower,
 
 LE PREMIER PAS 41 
 
 easier matter than with us in the brisk North. 
 After a moment the Englishman turned with, per- 
 haps, the intention of studying his companion's 
 face, only to find the deep gray eyes fixed on his 
 own. 
 
 " Spain," said the padre, " is a wonderful coun- 
 try — rich, beautiful, with a climate like none in 
 Europe ; . . . but God and the devil come to 
 closer quarters here than elsewhere. Still, for a 
 traveller — for pleasure — I think this country is 
 second to none." 
 
 " I am not exactly a traveller for pleasure, my 
 father." 
 
 " Ah ! " and Concha drummed idly on the 
 table with his fingers. 
 
 " I left England in haste," added Conyngham, 
 lightly. 
 
 " Ah ! " 
 
 " And it will be inexpedient for me to return for 
 some months to come. I thought of taking ser- 
 vice in the army, and have a letter to General 
 Vincente, who lives at Ronda, as I understand, 
 sixty miles from here, across the mountains." 
 
 " Yes," said the priest, thoughtfully ; " Ronda is 
 sixty miles from here, across the mountains." 
 
 He was watching a boat, which approached the 
 shore from the direction of Gibraltar. The wind 
 having dropped, the boatmen had lowered the sail 
 and were now rowing, giving voice to a song, 
 which floated across the smooth sea sleepily. It
 
 42 IN KEDAR'S TENTS 
 
 was an ordinary Algeciras wherry, built to carry a 
 little cargo and perhaps a dozen passengers, a fish- 
 ing-boat that smelt strangely of tobacco. The 
 shore was soon reached, and the passengers, num- 
 bering half a dozen, stepped over the gunwale on 
 to a small landing-stage. One of them was 
 better dressed than his companions, a smart man 
 with a bright flower in the buttonhole of his 
 jacket, carrying the flowing cloak, brightly lined 
 with coloured velvet, without which no Spaniard 
 goes abroad at sunset. He looked toward the hotel, 
 and was evidently speaking of it with a boatman, 
 whose attitude was full of promise and assurance. 
 
 The priest rose and emptied his glass. 
 
 " I must ask you to excuse me. Vespers wait 
 for no man, and I hear the bell," he said with a 
 grave bow, and went indoors. 
 
 Left to himself, Conyngham lapsed into the 
 easy reflections of a man whose habit it is to live 
 for the present, leaving the future and the past to 
 take care of themselves. Perhaps he thought, as 
 some do, that the past dies — which is a mistake. 
 The past only sleeps, and we carry it with us 
 through life, slumbering. Those are wise who 
 bear it gently, so that it may never be aroused. 
 
 The sun had set, and Gibraltar, a huge couchant 
 lion across the bay, was fading into the twilight of 
 the east, when a footstep in the dining-room made 
 Conyngham turn his head, half expecting the 
 return of Father Concha. But in the door-
 
 LE PREMIER PAS 
 
 43 
 
 way, and with the evident intention of coming 
 toward himself, Conyngham perceived a handsome, 
 dark-faced man, of medium height, with a smart 
 moustache brushed upward, clever eyes, and the 
 carriage of a soldier. This stranger unfolded his 
 cloak, for in Spain it is considered ill-mannered to 
 address a stranger and remain cloaked. 
 
 " Sefior," he said, with a gesture of the hat 
 courteous, and yet manly enough to savour more 
 of the camp than the court — " sefior, I under- 
 stand that you are journeying to Ronda." 
 
 « Yes." 
 
 " I, too, intended to go across the mountains, 
 and hoped to arrive here in time to accompany 
 friends, who, I hear, have already started on their 
 journey. I have also received letters which neces- 
 sitate my return to Malaga. You have already 
 divined that I come to ask a favour." 
 
 He brought forward a chair and sat down, 
 drawing from his pocket' a silver cigarette-case, 
 which he offered to the Englishman. There was 
 a certain picturesqueness in the man's attitude and 
 manner. His face and movements possessed a 
 suggestion of energy which seemed out of place 
 here in the sleepy South, and stamped him as a 
 native, not of dreamy Andalusia, but of La 
 Mancha, perhaps, where the wit of Spain is con- 
 centrated ; or of fiery Catalonia, where discontent 
 and unrest are in the very atmosphere of the brown 
 hills. This was a Spanish gentleman in the best
 
 44 IN KEDAR'S TENTS 
 
 sense of the word, as scrupulous in personal clean- 
 liness as any Englishman, polished, accomplished, 
 bright, and fascinating, and yet carrying with him 
 a subtle air of melancholy and romance which 
 lingers still among the men and women of aristo- 
 cratic Spain. 
 
 " 'T is but to carry a letter," he explained, 
 " and to deliver it into the hand of the per- 
 son to whom it is addressed. Ah, I would give 
 five years of life to touch that hand with my 
 lips ! " 
 
 He sighed, gave a little laugh which was full of 
 meaning, and yet quite free from self-conscious- 
 ness, and lighted a fresh cigarette. Then, after a 
 little pause, he produced the letter from an inner 
 pocket, and laid it on the table in front of 
 Conyngham. It was addressed, " To the Seno- 
 rita G. B.," and had a subtle scent of mignonette. 
 The envelope was of a delicate pink. 
 
 " A love-letter," said Conyngham, bluntly. 
 
 The Spaniard looked at him and shrugged his 
 shoulders. 
 
 " Ah ! you do not understand," he said, " in 
 that cold country of the North. If you stay in 
 Spain perhaps some dark-eyed one will teach you. 
 But," and his manner changed with theatrical 
 rapidity as he laid his slim hand on the letter, " if, 
 when you see her, you love her, I will kill you." 
 
 Conyngham laughed and held out his hand for 
 the letter.
 
 LE PREMIER PAS 45 
 
 " It is insufficiently addressed," he said practi- 
 cally. " How shall I find this lady ? " 
 
 " Her name is Barenna — the Senorita Barenna. 
 That is sufficient in Ronda." 
 
 Conyngham took up the letter and examined 
 it. 
 
 " It is of importance," he said. 
 
 " Of the utmost." 
 
 « And of value ? " 
 
 " Of the greatest value in the world to me." 
 
 The Spaniard rose and took up his cloak, which 
 he had thrown over the back of the nearest chair, 
 not forgetting to display a picturesque corner of its 
 bright lining. 
 
 " You swear you will deliver it, only with your 
 own hand, only to the hand of the Senorita 
 Barenna ! And you will observe the strictest 
 secrecy." 
 
 " Oh, yes," answered Conyngham, carelessly ; 
 " if you like." 
 
 The Spaniard turned, and leaning one hand on 
 the table, looked almost fiercely into his compan- 
 ion's face. 
 
 " You are an Englishman," he said, " and an 
 Englishman's word — is it not known all the world 
 over ? " 
 
 " In the North, in my country, where Welling- 
 ton fought, the peasants still say, l Word of an 
 Englishman,' instead of an oath." 
 
 He threw his cloak over his shoulder and
 
 46 IN KEDAR'S TENTS 
 
 stood looking down at his companion with a little 
 smile, as if he were proud of him. 
 
 " There ! " he said. " Adios. My name is 
 Larralde ; but that is of no consequence. Adios" 
 
 With a courteous bow he took his leave, and 
 Conyngham presently saw him walking down to 
 the landing-stage. It seemed that this strange 
 visitor was about to depart as abruptly as he had 
 come. Convngham rose and walked to the edge 
 of the veranda, where he stood watching the de- 
 parture of the boat in which his new friend had 
 taken passage. 
 
 While he was standing there the old priest 
 came quietly out of the open window of the din- 
 ing-room. He saw the letter lying on the table 
 where Conyngham had left it. He approached, 
 his shabby old shoes making no sound on the 
 wooden flooring, and read the address written 
 on the pink and scented envelope. When the 
 Englishman at length turned he was alone on the 
 veranda with the wine-bottle, the empty glasses, 
 and the letter.
 
 CHAPTER V 
 
 CONTRABAND 
 
 «« What rights are his that dares not strike for them ? " 
 
 An hour before sunrise two horses stood shuffling 
 their feet and chewing their bits before the hotel 
 of the Marina at Algeciras, while their owner, a 
 short and thick-set man of an exaggeratedly vil- 
 lainous appearance, attended to such straps and 
 buckles as he suspected of latent flaws. The 
 horses were lean and loose of ear, with a melan- 
 choly thoughtfulness of demeanour that seemed 
 to suggest the deepest misgivings as to the future. 
 Their saddles and other accoutrements were frankly 
 theatrical, and would have been at once the delight 
 of an artist and the despair of a saddler. Fringes 
 and tassels of bright-coloured worsted depended 
 from points where fringes and tassels were dis- 
 tinctly out of place. Where the various straps 
 should have been strong they looked weak, and 
 scarce a buckle could boast an innocence of knot- 
 ted string. The saddles were of wood, and calcu- 
 lated to inflict serious internal injuries to the rider 
 in case of a fall. They stood at least a foot above 
 the horse's backbone, raised on a thick cushion 
 upon the ribs of the animal, and leaving a space in
 
 48 IN KEDAR'S TENTS 
 
 the middle for the secretion of tobacco and other 
 contraband merchandise. 
 
 " I '11 take the smallest cutthroat of the crew," 
 Conyngham had said on the occasion of an infor- 
 mal parade of guides the previous evening. And 
 the host of the Fonda, in whose kitchen the func- 
 tion had taken place, explained to Concepcion Vara 
 that the English excellency had selected him on 
 his, the host's, assurance that Algeciras contained 
 no other so honest. 
 
 " Tell him," answered Concepcion, with a cig- 
 arette between his lips and a pardonable pride in 
 his eyes, " that my grandfather was a smuggler, 
 and my father was shot by the guardia civile near 
 Algatocin." 
 
 Concepcion, having repaired one girth and shaken 
 his head dubiously over another, lighted a fresh 
 cigarette and gave a little shiver, for the morning 
 air was keen. He discreetly coughed. He had 
 seen Conyngham breakfasting by the light of a 
 dim oil lamp of a shape and make unaltered since 
 the days of Nebuchadnezzar, and without appear- 
 ing impatient wished to convey to one gentleman 
 the fact that another awaited him. 
 
 Before long Conyngham appeared, having paid 
 an iniquitous bill with the recklessness that is only 
 thoroughly understood by the poor. He appeared 
 as usual to be at peace with all men, and returned 
 his guide's grave salutation with an easy nod. 
 
 " These the horses ? " he inquired.
 
 CONTRABAND 49 
 
 Concepcion Vara spread out his hands. 
 
 " They have no equal in Andalusia," he said. 
 
 " Then I am sorry for Andalusia," answered 
 Conyngham, with a pleasant laugh. 
 
 They mounted and rode away in the dim, cool 
 light of the morning. The sea was of a deep blue, 
 and rippled all over as in a picture. Gibraltar, five 
 miles away, loomed up like a gray cloud against 
 the pink of sunrise. The whole world wore a 
 cleanly look, as if the night had been passed over 
 its face like a sponge wiping away all that was 
 unsightly or evil. The air was light and exhila- 
 rating, and scented by the breath of aromatic weeds 
 growing at the roadside. 
 
 Concepcion sang a song as he rode — a song 
 almost as old as his trade — declaring that he was 
 a smuggler bold. And he looked it, every inch. 
 The road to Ronda lies through the corkwoods of 
 Ximena, leaving St. Roque on the right hand ; 
 such at least was the path selected by Conyng- 
 ham's guide ; for there are many ways over the 
 mountains, and none of them to be recommended. 
 Beguiling the journey with cigarette and song, 
 calling at every venta on the road, exchanging 
 chaff with every woman and a quick word with all 
 men, Concepcion faithfully fulfilled his contract, 
 and as the moon rose over the distant snow-clad 
 peaks of the Sierra Nevada, pointed forward to the 
 lights of Gaucin, a mountain village with an evil 
 reputation. 
 
 4
 
 5 o IN KEDAR'S TENTS 
 
 The dawn of the next day saw the travellers in 
 the saddle again, and the road was worse than ever. 
 A sharp ascent led them up from Gaucin to re- 
 gions where foliage grew scarcer at every step 
 and cultivation was unknown. At one spot they 
 turned to look back, and saw Gibraltar like a tooth 
 protruding from the sea. The straits had the ap- 
 pearance of a river, and the high land behind Ceuta 
 formed the farther bank of it. 
 
 u There is Africa," said Concepcion, gravely, 
 and after a moment turned his horse's head uphill 
 again. The people of these mountain regions were 
 as wild in appearance as their country. Once 
 or twice the travellers passed a shepherd herding 
 sheep or goats on the mountain-side, himself clad 
 in goatskin with a great brown cloak floating from 
 his shoulders, a living picture of Ishmael or those 
 wild sons of his who dwelt in the tents of Kedar. 
 A few muleteers drew aside to let the horses pass, 
 and exchanged some words in an undertone with 
 Conyngham's guide. Fine-looking brigands were 
 these, with an armoury of knives peeping from 
 their bright-coloured waistbands. The Andalusian 
 peasant is, for six days in the week, calculated to 
 inspire awe by his clothing and general appearance. 
 Of a dark skin and hair, he usually submits his 
 chin to the barber's office but once a week, and 
 the timid traveller would do well to take the road 
 on Sundays only. Toward the end of the week, 
 and notably on a Saturday, every passer-by is an
 
 CONTRABAND 51 
 
 unshorn brigand, capable of the darkest deeds of 
 villainy, while twenty-four hours later the land will 
 be found to be peopled by as clean and honest and 
 smart, and withal as handsome, a race of men as 
 any on earth. 
 
 Before long all habitations were left behind, and 
 the horses climbed from rock to rock like cats. 
 There was no suggestion of pathway or landmark, 
 and Concepcion paused once or twice to take his 
 bearings. It was about two in the afternoon when, 
 after descending the bed of a stream long since 
 dried up, Concepcion called a halt, and proposed 
 to rest the horses while he dined. As on the 
 previous day, the guide's manner was that of a 
 gentleman, conferring a high honour with becom- 
 ing modesty, when he sat down beside Conyngham 
 and untied his small sack of provisions. These 
 consisted of dried figs and bread, which he offered 
 to his companion before beginning to eat. Con- 
 vno-ham shared his own stock of food with his 
 guide, and subsequently smoked a cigarette which 
 that gentleman offered him. They were thus 
 pleasantly engaged when a man appeared on the 
 rocks above them, in a manner and with a haste 
 that spoke but ill of his honesty. The guide 
 looked up, knife in hand, and made answer to a 
 gesture of the arm with his own hand upraised. 
 
 " Who is this ? " said Conyngham. " Some 
 friend of yours ? Tell him to keep his distance, 
 for I don't care for his appearance."
 
 52 IN KEDAR'S TENTS 
 
 " He is no friend of mine, excellency. But the 
 man is, I dare say, honest enough. In these 
 mountains it is only of the guardia civile that one 
 must beware. They have ever the finger on the 
 trigger, and shoot without warning." 
 
 " Nevertheless," said the Englishman, now 
 thoroughly on the alert, " let him state his busi- 
 ness at a respectable distance. Ah ! he has a 
 comrade and two mules." 
 
 And, indeed, a second man of equally unpre- 
 possessing exterior now appeared from behind a 
 great rock leading a couple of heavily laden 
 mules. 
 
 Concepcion and the first traveller, who was 
 now within a dozen yards, were already exchang- 
 ing words in a patois not unlike the Limousin 
 dialect, of which Conyngham understood nothing. 
 
 " Stop where you are," shouted the Englishman 
 in Spanish, " or else I shoot you ! If there is 
 anything wrong, Senor Vara," he added to the 
 guide, " I shoot you first ; understand that." 
 
 " He says," answered Concepcion, with dignity, 
 " that they are honest traders on the road to Ronda, 
 and would be glad of our company. His excel- 
 lency is at liberty to shoot if he is so disposed." 
 
 Conyngham laughed. 
 
 " No," he answered ; " I am not anxious to 
 kill any man, but each must take care of himself 
 in these times." 
 
 " Not against an honest smuggler."
 
 CONTRABAND 
 
 53 
 
 " Are these smugglers ? " 
 
 " They speak as such. I know them no more 
 than does his excellency." 
 
 The second newcomer was now within hail, 
 and began at once to speak in Spanish. The tale 
 he told was similar in every way to that translated 
 by Concepcion from the Limousin dialect. 
 
 " Why should we not travel together to Ronda ? " 
 he said, coming forward with an easy air of con- 
 fidence, which was of better efFect than any pro- 
 testation of honesty. He had a quiet eye and the 
 demeanour of one educated to loftier things than 
 smuggling tobacco across the Sierra, though, indeed, 
 he was no better clad than his companion. The 
 two guides instinctively took the road together, 
 Concepcion leading his horse, for the way was 
 such that none could ride over it. Conyngham 
 did the same, and his companion led the mule by a 
 rope, as is the custom in Andalusia. 
 
 The full glare of the day shone down on them, 
 the bare rock giving back a puff of heat that dried 
 the throat. Conyngham was tired, and not too 
 trustful of his companion, who, indeed, seemed to 
 be fully occupied with his own thoughts. They 
 had thus progressed a full half hour, when a shout 
 from the rocks above caused them to halt sud- 
 denly. The white linen head-coverings of two 
 guardla civile and the glint of the sun on their 
 accoutrements showed at a glance that this was 
 not a summons to be disregarded.
 
 54 IN KEDAR'S TENTS 
 
 In an instant Concepcion's companion was leap- 
 ing from rock to rock, with an agility only to be 
 acquired in the hot fear of death. A report rang 
 out and echoed among the hills. A bullet went 
 " splat " against a rock near at hand, making a 
 frayed blue mark upon the gray stone. The man 
 dodged from side to side, in the panic-stricken 
 irresponsibility of a rabbit seeking covert where 
 none exists. There was not so much as to hide 
 his head. Conyngham looked up toward the foe in 
 time to see a puff of white smoke thrown up against 
 the steely sky. A second report, and the fugitive 
 seemed to trip over a stone ; he recovered himself, 
 stood upright for a moment, gave a queer, splutter- 
 ing cough, and sat slowly down against a boulder. 
 
 " He is killed ! " said Concepcion, throwing 
 down his cigarette. " Mother of God, these 
 guard! a civile ! " 
 
 The two guards came clambering down the face 
 of the rock. Concepcion glanced at his late com- 
 panion writhing in the sharpness of death. 
 
 " Here or at Ronda ; to-day or to-morrow ; 
 what matters it ? " muttered the quiet-eyed man 
 at Conyngham's side. The Englishman turned 
 and looked at him. 
 
 " They will shoot me, too ; but not now." 
 
 Concepcion sullenly awaited the arrival of the 
 guards. These men ever hunt in couples of a 
 widely different age, for the law has found that 
 an old head and a young arm form the strongest
 
 CONTRABAND 55 
 
 combination. The elder of the two had the face 
 of an old, gray wolf. He muttered some order to 
 his companion and went toward the mule. He 
 cut away the outer covering of the burden sus- 
 pended from the saddle and nodded his head wisely. 
 These were boxes of cartridges to carry one thous- 
 and each. The gray old man turned and looked 
 at him who lay on the ground. 
 
 " A la longa'' he said, with a grim smile. " In 
 the long run, Antonio." 
 
 The man gave a sickly grin, and opened his 
 mouth to speak, but his jaw dropped instead, and 
 he passed across that frontier which is watched by 
 no earthly sentinel. 
 
 " This gentleman," said the quiet-eyed man, 
 whose guide had thus paid for his little mistake in 
 refusing to halt at the word of command, " is a 
 stranger to me — an Englishman, I think." 
 
 " Yes," answered Conyngham. 
 
 The old soldier looked from one to the other. 
 
 " That may be," he said ; " but he sleeps in 
 Ronda prison to-night. To-morrow the Captain- 
 General will see to it." 
 
 " I have a letter to the Captain-General," said 
 Conyngham, who drew from his pocket a packet 
 of papers. Among these was the pink, scented 
 envelope given to him by the man called Larralde 
 at Algeciras. He had forgotten its existence, and 
 put it back in his pocket with a smile. Having 
 found that for which he sought, he gave it to the
 
 56 IN KEDAR'S TENTS 
 
 guard, who read the address in silence, and re- 
 turned the letter. 
 
 " You I know," he said, turning to the man at 
 Conyngham's side, who merely shrugged his shoul- 
 ders ; " and Concepcion Vara, we all know him." 
 
 Concepcion had lighted a cigarette, and was 
 murmuring a popular air with the indifferent 
 patience and the wandering eye of perfect inno- 
 cence. The old soldier turned and spoke in an 
 undertone to his comrade, who went toward the 
 dead man and quietly covered his face with the 
 folds of his own faja or waistcloth. This he 
 weighted at the corners with stones carrying out 
 this simple office to the dead with a suggestive 
 indifference. To this day the guardia civile have 
 plenary power to shoot whomsoever they think fit, 
 flight and resistance being equally fatal. 
 
 No more heeding the dead body of the man 
 whom he had shot than he would have heeded the 
 carcase of a rat, the elder of the two soldiers now 
 gave the order to march, commanding Concepcion 
 to lead the way. 
 
 " It will not be worth your while to risk a bul- 
 let by running away," he said. "This time it is 
 probably a matter of a few pounds of tobacco 
 only." 
 
 The evening had fallen ere the silent party 
 caught sight of the town of Ronda, perched, as the 
 Moorish strongholds usually are, on a height. 
 Ronda, as history tells, was the last possession of
 
 CONTRABAND 57 
 
 the brave and gifted Moslems in Spain. The 
 people are half-Moorish still, and from the barred 
 windows look out deep almond eyes and patient 
 faces that have no European feature. The nar- 
 row streets were empty as the travellers entered 
 the town, and the clatter of the mules, slipping and 
 stumbling on the cobble-stones, brought but few 
 to the doors of the low-built houses. To enter 
 Ronda from the south, the traveller must traverse 
 the Moorish town,which is divided from the Span- 
 ish quarter by a cleft in the great rock that ren- 
 ders the town impregnable to all attack. Having 
 crossed the bridge spanning the great gorge, into 
 which the sun never penetrates, even at midday, the 
 party emerged into the broader streets of the more 
 modern town, and, turning to the right through a 
 high gateway, found themselves in a barrack-yard 
 of the guardia civile.
 
 CHAPTER VI 
 
 AT RONDA 
 
 "Le plus grand art d'un habile homme est celui de 
 savoir cacher son habilete." 
 
 When Conyngham awoke, after a night conscien- 
 tiously spent in that profound slumber which waits 
 on an excellent digestion and a careless heart, he 
 found the prison attendant at his bedside. A less 
 easy-going mind would, perhaps, have leapt to 
 some nervous conclusion at the sight of this fierce- 
 visaged janitor, who, however, carried nothing 
 more deadly in his hand than a card. 
 
 "It is the Captain-General," said he, "who 
 calls at this early hour. His excellency's letter 
 has been delivered, and the Captain-General scarce 
 waited to swallow his morning chocolate." 
 
 " Very much to the Captain-General's credit," 
 returned Conyngham, rising. " Cold water," he 
 went on, " soap, a towel, and my luggage ; and 
 then the Captain-General." 
 
 The attendant, with an odd smile, procured the 
 necessary articles, and when the Englishman was 
 ready led the way downstairs. He was a solemn 
 man from Galicia, where they do not smile. 
 
 In the patio of the great house, once a monas-
 
 AT RONDA 59 
 
 tery, now converted into a barrack for the guardia 
 civile, a small man of fifty years or more stood 
 smoking a cigarette. On perceiving Conyngham 
 he came forward, with outstretched hand and a 
 smile which can only be described as angelic. It 
 was a smile at once sympathetic and humorous, 
 veiling his dark eyes between lashes almost closed, 
 parting moustachioed lips to disclose a row of pearly 
 teeth. 
 
 " My dear sir," said General Vincente, in very 
 tolerable English, " I am at your feet. That such 
 a mistake should have been made in respect to the 
 bearer of a letter of introduction from my old 
 friend, General Watterson — we fought together 
 in Wellington's day — that such a mistake should 
 have occurred overwhelms me with shame." 
 
 He pressed Conyngham's hand in both of his, 
 which were small and white, looked up into his 
 face, stepped back and broke into a soft laugh. 
 Indeed, his voice was admirably suited to a lady's 
 drawing-room, and suggested nought of the camp 
 or battlefield. From the handkerchief, which he 
 drew from his sleeve and passed across his white 
 moustache, a faint scent floated on the morning 
 air. 
 
 " Are you General Vincente ? " asked Conyng- 
 ham. 
 
 tc Yes ; why not ? " And in truth the tone of 
 the Englishman's voice had betrayed a scepticism 
 which warranted the question.
 
 60 IN KEDAR'S TENTS 
 
 " It is very kind of you to come so early. I 
 have been quite comfortable, and they gave me a 
 good supper last night," said Conyngham. " More- 
 over, the guard'ia civile are in no way to blame for 
 my arrest. I was in bad company, it seems." 
 
 " Yes ; your companions were engaged in car- 
 rying ammunition for the Carlists. We have 
 wanted to lay our hands upon them for some 
 weeks. They have carried former journeys to a 
 successful termination." 
 
 He laughed and shrugged his shoulders. 
 
 "The guide Antonio something or other died, 
 as I understand." 
 
 " Well, yes, if you choose to put it that way," 
 admitted Conyngham. 
 
 The general raised his eyebrows in a gentle 
 grimace, expressive of deprecation, with, as it were, 
 a small solution of sympathy, indicated by a 
 moisture of the eye for the family of Antonio 
 something or other in their bereavement. 
 
 " And the other man ? Seemed a nice enough 
 fellow," inquired Conyngham. 
 
 The general raised one gloved hand, as if to 
 fend off some approaching calamity. 
 
 " He died this morning at six o'clock." 
 
 Conyngham looked down at this gentle soldier 
 with a dawning light of comprehension. This 
 might, after all, be the General Vincente, whom 
 he had been led to look upon as the fiercest of the 
 Spanish Queen's adherents.
 
 AT RONDA 6 i 
 
 " Of the same complaint ? " 
 
 " Of the same complaint," answered the general, 
 softly. He slipped his hand within Conyngham's 
 arm, and thus affectionately led him across the 
 patio toward the doorway, where sentinels stood at 
 attention. He acknowledged the attitude of his 
 subordinates by a friendly nod ; indeed, this rosy- 
 faced warrior seemed to brim over with the milk of 
 human kindness. 
 
 " The English," he said, pressing his compan- 
 ion's arm, " have been too useful to us for me to 
 allow one of them to remair a moment longer in 
 confinement. You say you were comfortable. I 
 hope they gave you a clean towel and all that." 
 
 " Yes, thanks," answered Conyngham suppress- 
 ing a desire to laugh. 
 
 " That is well. Ronda is a pleasant place, as 
 you will find — most interesting ; Moorish remains, 
 you understand. I will send my servant for your 
 baggage, and, of course, my poor house is at your 
 disposition. You will stay with me until we can 
 find some work for you to do. You wish to take 
 service with us, of course ? " 
 
 " Yes," answered Conyngham ; " rather thought 
 of it, if you will have me." 
 
 The general glanced up at his stalwart com- 
 panion with a measuring eye. 
 
 " My house," he said, in a conversational way, 
 as if only desirous of making matters as pleasant as 
 possible in a life which nature had intended to be
 
 62 IN KEDAR'S TENTS 
 
 peaceful and sunny, and perhaps trifling, but which 
 the wickedness of men had rendered otherwise — 
 " my house is, as you would divine, only an official 
 residence, but pleasant enough — pleasant enough. 
 The garden is distinctly tolerable. There are orange- 
 trees now in bloom, so sweet of scent." 
 
 The street into which they had now emerged 
 was no less martial in appearance than the barrack- 
 yard, and while he spoke the general never ceased 
 to disperse his kindly little nod, on one side or the 
 other, in response to military salutations. 
 
 " We have quite a number of soldiers in Ronda 
 at present," he said, with an affectionate little pres- 
 sure of Conyngham's arm, as if to indicate his ap- 
 preciation of such protection amid these rough men. 
 " There is a great talk of some rising in the South 
 — in Andalusia — to support Senor Cabrera, who 
 continually threatens Madrid. A great soldier, 
 they tell me, this Cabrera ; but not . . . well, not 
 perhaps quite ... eh ? ... a caballero, a gentle- 
 man. A pity, is it not ? " 
 
 " A great pity," answered Conyngham, taking 
 the opportunity at last afforded him of getting a 
 word in. 
 
 " One must be prepared," went on the general, 
 with a good-natured little sigh, " for such measures. 
 There are so many mistaken enthusiasts. Is it 
 not so ? Such men as your countryman, Senor 
 Flinter. There are so many who are stronger 
 Carlists than Don Carlos himself — eh?"
 
 AT RONDA 63 
 
 The secret of conversational success is to defer 
 to one's listener. A clever man imparts informa- 
 tion by asking questions, and obtains it without 
 doing so. 
 
 " This is my poor house," continued the soldier, 
 and as he spoke he beamed on the sentries at the 
 door. " I am a widower, but God has given me a 
 daughter, who is now of an age to rule my house- 
 hold. Estella will endeavour to make you com- 
 fortable ; and an Englishman, a soldier, will surely 
 overlook some small defects." 
 
 He finished with a good-natured laugh. There 
 was no resisting the sunny good-humour of this 
 rotund little officer or the gladness of his face. 
 His attitude toward the world was one of constant 
 endeavour to make things pleasant and acquit him- 
 self to his best in circumstances far beyond his 
 merits or capabilities. He was one who had had 
 good fortune all his days. Those who have great- 
 ness thrust upon them are never much impressed 
 by their burden. And General Vincente had the 
 air of constantly assuring his subordinates that they 
 need not mind him. 
 
 The house to which he conducted Conyngham 
 stood on the broad main street, immediately oppo- 
 site a cluster of shops where leather bottles were 
 manufactured and sold. It was a large, gloomy 
 house, with a patio devoid of fountain and even of 
 the usual orange-trees in green boxes. 
 
 " Through there is the garden, most pleasant and
 
 64 IN KEDAR'S TENTS 
 
 shady," said the general, indicating a doorway with 
 the riding-whip he carried. 
 
 A troop of servants awaited them at the foot of 
 the broad Moorish staircase, open on one side to 
 the patio, and heavily carved in balustrade and 
 cornice. These gentlemen bowed gravely ; in- 
 deed, they were so numerous, that the majority of 
 them must have had nothing to do but cultivate 
 this dignified salutation. 
 
 " The senorita ? " inquired the general. 
 
 41 The senorita is in the garden, excellency," 
 answered one, with the air of a courtier. 
 
 " Then let us go there at once," said General 
 Vincente, turning to Conyngham and gripping his 
 arm affectionately. 
 
 They passed through a doorway, whither two 
 men had hurried to open the heavy doors, and the 
 scent of violets and mignonette, of orange in bloom, 
 and of a hundred opening buds swept across their 
 faces. The brilliant sunlight almost dazzled eyes 
 that had grown accustomed to the cool shade of 
 the patio, for Ronda is one of the sunniest spots on 
 earth, and here the warmth is rarely oppressive. 
 The garden was Moorish, and running water in 
 aqueducts of marble, yellow with stupendous age, 
 murmured in the shade of tropical plants. A foun- 
 tain plashed and chattered softly, like the whisper- 
 ing of children. The pathways were paved with 
 a fine white gravel of broken marble. There was 
 no weed amid the flowers. It seemed a paradise
 
 AT RONDA 65 
 
 to Conyngham, fresh from the gray and mournful 
 Northern winter, and no part of this weary, busy 
 world, for here was rest and silence, and that sense 
 of eternity which is only conveyed by the continu- 
 ous voice of running or falling water. It was 
 hard to believe that this was real and earthly. 
 Conyngham rubbed his eyes, and instinctively 
 turned to look at his companion, who was as un- 
 real as his surroundings. A round-faced, chubby 
 little man, with a tender mouth and moist, dark 
 eyes, looking kindly out upon the world, who called 
 himself General Vincente, and the name was 
 synonymous in all Spain with bloodthirstiness and 
 cruelty, with daring and an unsparing generalship. 
 
 " Come," said he, " let us look for Estella." 
 
 He led the way along a path winding among 
 almond and peach-trees in full bloom, in the shadow 
 of the weird eucalyptus and the feathery pepper- 
 tree. Then with a little word of pleasure he 
 hurried forward. 
 
 Conyngham caught sight of a black dress and a 
 black mantilla, of fair golden hair, and a fan up- 
 raised against the rays of the sun. 
 
 " Estella, here is a guest, Mr. Conyngham, one 
 of the brave Englishmen who remember Spain in 
 her time of trouble." 
 
 Conyngham bowed with a greater ceremony than 
 we observe to-day, and stood upright to look upon 
 that which was for him, from that moment, the 
 fairest face in the world. As to some men success 
 
 5
 
 66 IN KEDAR'S TENTS 
 
 or failure seems to come early and in one bound, 
 so for some Love lies long in ambush, to shoot at 
 length a single and certain shaft. Conyngham 
 looked at Estella Vincente, his gay blue eyes meet- 
 ing her dark glance with a frankness which was 
 characteristic, and knew from that instant that his 
 world held no other woman. It came to him as a 
 flash of lightning that left his former life gray and 
 neutral, and yet he was conscious of no surprise, 
 but rather of a feeling of having found something 
 which he had long sought. 
 
 The girl acknowledged his salutation with a little 
 inclination of the head, and a smile which was only 
 of the lips, for her eyes remained grave and deep. 
 She had all the dignity of carriage famous in Cas- 
 tilian women, though her figure was youthful still 
 and slight. Her face was a clean-cut oval, with 
 lips that were still and proud, and a delicately 
 aquiline nose. 
 
 " My daughter speaks English better than I do," 
 went on the general, in the garrulous voice of an 
 exceedingly domesticated man. u She has been 
 at school in England, at the suggestion of my dear 
 friend Watterson — with his daughters, in fact." 
 
 " And must have found it dull and gray enough 
 compared to Spain," said Conyngham. 
 
 " Ah ! then you like Spain," said the general, 
 eagerly. " It is so with all the English. We 
 have something in common despite the Armada, 
 eh? — something in manner and in appearance, 
 too ; is it not so ? "
 
 AT RONDA 67 
 
 He left Conyngham and walked slowly on with 
 one hand at his daughter's waist. 
 
 " I was .very happy in England," said Estella to 
 Conyngham, who walked at her other side ; " but 
 happier still to get home to Spain." 
 
 Her voice was rather low, and Conyngham had 
 an odd sensation of having heard it before. 
 
 " Why did you leave your home ? " she con- 
 tinued, in a leisurely, conversational way, which 
 seemed natural to the environments. 
 
 The question rather startled the Englishman, for 
 the only answer seemed to be that he had quitted 
 England in order to come to Ronda and to her, 
 following the path in life that Fate had assigned 
 
 to him. 
 
 " We have troubles in England also — political 
 troubles," he said, after a pause. 
 
 " The Chartists," said the general, cheerfully. 
 " We know all about them, for we have the Eng- 
 lish newspapers. I procure them in order to have 
 reliable news of Spain." 
 
 He broke off with a little laugh, and looked 
 toward his daughter. 
 
 " In the evening Estella reads them to me. 
 And it was on account of the Chartists that you 
 left England ? " 
 
 « Yes." 
 
 " Ah ! you are a Chartist, Mr. Conyngham ? " 
 
 " Yes," admitted the Englishman, after a pause, 
 and he glanced at Estella.
 
 CHAPTER VII 
 
 IN A MOORISH GARDEN 
 
 " When love is not a blasphemy, it is a religion." 
 
 There is, perhaps, a subtle significance in the fact 
 that the greatest, the crudest, the most barbarous 
 civil war of modern days, if not of all time, has 
 owed its outbreak and its long continuance to the 
 influence of a woman. When Ferdinand VII. of 
 Spain died in 1833, after a reign broken and dis- 
 turbed by the passage of that human cyclone, 
 Napoleon the Great, he bequeathed his kingdom, 
 in defiance of the Salic Law, to his daughter 
 Isabella. Ferdinand's brother Carlos, however, 
 claimed the throne, under the very just contention 
 that the Salic Law, by which women were ex- 
 cluded from the heritage of the crown, had never 
 been legally abrogated. 
 
 This was the spark that fell in a tinder made up 
 of ambition, unscrupulousness, cruelty, bloodthirst- 
 iness, self-seeking, and jealousy — the morale, in 
 a word, of the Spain of sixty years ago. Some 
 sided with the Queen Regent Christina and rallied 
 round the child-queen, because they saw that that 
 way lay glory and promotion. Others flocked to
 
 IN A MOORISH GARDEN 69 
 
 the standard of Don Carlos, because they were 
 poor and of no influence at court. The Church, 
 as a whole, raised its whispering voice for the Pre- 
 tender ; for the rest, patriotism was nowhere, and 
 ambition on every side. 
 
 " For five years we have fought the Carlists, 
 hunger, privation, and the politicians at Madrid ! 
 And the holy saints only know which has been 
 the worst enemy," said General Vincente to 
 Conyngham, when explaining the above related 
 details. 
 
 And, indeed, the story of this war reads like a 
 romance, for there came from neutral countries 
 foreign legions, as in the olden days. From Eng- 
 land an army of ten thousand mercenaries landed 
 in Spain, prepared to fight for the cause of Queen 
 Christina, and very modestly estimating the worth 
 of their services at the sum of thirteen pence a 
 diem. After all, the value of a man's life is but 
 the price of his daily hire. 
 
 " We did not pay them much," said General 
 Vincente, with a deprecating little smile, " but 
 they did not fight much. Their pay was gener- 
 ally in arrears, and they were usually in the rear as 
 well. What will you, my dear Conyngham ; you 
 are a commercial people, you keep good soldiers 
 in the shop window, and when a buyer comes you 
 serve him with second-class goods from behind the 
 
 counter." 
 
 He beamed on Conyngham with a pleasant ai;
 
 7 o IN KEDAR'S TENTS 
 
 of benign connivance in a very legitimate com- 
 mercial transaction. 
 
 This is no time or place to go into the history 
 of the English legion in Spain, which, indeed, had 
 quitted that country before Conyngham landed 
 there, horrified by the barbarities of a cruel war, 
 where prisoners received no quarter, and the 
 soldiers on either side were left without pay or 
 rations. In a half-hearted manner England went 
 to the assistance of the Queen Regent of Spain, 
 and one error in statesmanship led to many. It is 
 always a mistake to strike gently. 
 
 " This country," said General Vincente, in his 
 suavest manner, " owes much to yours, my dear 
 Conyngham ; but it would have been better for us 
 both had we owed you a little more." 
 
 During the five years prior to Conyngham's 
 arrival at Ronda the war had raged with unabated 
 fury, swaying from the West to East Coast, as 
 fortune smiled or frowned on the Carlist cause. 
 At one time it almost appeared certain that the 
 Christina forces were unable to stem the rising 
 tide, which bade fair to spread over all Spain, so 
 unfortunate were their generals, so futile the best 
 endeavours of the bravest and most patient soldiers. 
 General Vincente was not alone in his conviction 
 that had the gallant Carlist leader Zumalacarreguy 
 lived, he might have carried all before him. But 
 this great leader at the height of his fame, beloved 
 by all his soldiers, worshipped by his subordinate
 
 IN A MOORISH GARDEN 71 
 
 officers, died suddenly by poison, as it was whis- 
 pered, the victim of jealousy and ambition. Al- 
 most at once there arose one in the east of Spain, 
 as obscure in birth as unknown to fame, who 
 flashed suddenly to the zenith of military glory, the 
 brutal, wonderful Cabrera. The name to this day 
 is a household word in Catalonia, while the eyes of 
 a few old men still living, who fought with or 
 against him, flash in the light of other days at the 
 mere mention of it. 
 
 Among the many leaders who had attempted in 
 vain to overcome by skill and patriotism the thous- 
 and difficulties placed in their way by successive, 
 unstable, insincere Ministers of War, General 
 Vincente occupied an honoured place. This 
 mild-mannered tactician enjoyed the enviable repu- 
 tation of being alike inconquerable and incorrupti- 
 ble. His smiling presence on the battlefield was 
 in itself worth half a dozen battalions, while at 
 Madrid the dishonest politicians, who through these 
 years of Spain's great trial systematically bartered 
 their honour for immediate gain, dreaded and 
 respected him. 
 
 During the days that followed his arrival at 
 Ronda and release from the prison there, Frederick 
 Conyngham learnt much from his host and little 
 of him, for General Vincente had that in him 
 which no leader, no great man in any walk 
 of life, can well dispense with — an unsoundable 
 depth.
 
 72 IN KEDAR'S TENTS 
 
 Conyngham learnt also that the human heart is 
 capable of rising at one bound above difficulties of 
 race or custom, creed and spoken language. He 
 walked with Estella in that quiet garden between 
 high walls on the trim Moorish paths, and often 
 the murmur of the running water, which ever 
 graced the Moslem palaces, was the only break 
 upon their silence ; for this thing had come into 
 the Englishman's life suddenly, leaving him dazed 
 and uncertain. Estella, on the other hand, had a 
 quiet savoir-faire that sat strangely on her young 
 face. She was only nineteen, and yet had a cer- 
 tain air of authority, handed down to her from two 
 great races of noble men and women. 
 
 " Do all your countrymen take life thus gaily ? " 
 she asked Conyngham one day. " Surely it is a 
 more serious affair than you think it." 
 
 " I have never found it very serious, senorita," 
 he answered. " There is usually a smile in human 
 affairs if one takes the trouble to look for it." 
 
 " Have you always found it so ? " 
 
 He did not answer at once, pausing to lift the 
 branch of a mimosa-tree that hung in yellow pro- 
 fusion across the pathway. 
 
 "Yes, senorita, I think so," he answered at 
 length slowly. There was a sense of eternal rest- 
 fulness in this old Moorish garden, which acted as 
 a brake on the thoughts, and made conversation 
 halt and drag in an Oriental way that Europeans 
 rarely understand.
 
 IN A MOORISH GARDEN 
 
 73 
 
 " And yet you say you remember your father's 
 death ? " 
 
 "He. made a joke to the doctor, senorita, and 
 was not afraid." 
 
 Estella smiled in a queer way, and then looked 
 grave again. 
 
 " And you have always been poor, you say — 
 sometimes almost starving ? " 
 
 " Yes ; always poor, deadly poor, senorita," 
 answered Conyngham, with a gay laugh. " And 
 since I have been on my own resources frequently, 
 well — very hungry ! The appetite has been large 
 and the resources have been small. But when I 
 get into the Spanish army they will, no doubt, 
 make me a general, and all will be well." 
 
 He laughed again and slipped his hand into his 
 jacket-pocket. 
 
 " See here," he said; "your father's recom- 
 mendation to General Espartero in a confidential 
 letter." 
 
 But the envelope he produced was that pink 
 one, which the man called Larralde had given him 
 at Algeciras. 
 
 " No ; it is not that," he said, searching in 
 another pocket. " Ah ! here it is, addressed to 
 General Espartero, Duke of Vittoria." 
 
 He showed her the superscription, which she 
 read with a little inclination of the head, as if in 
 salutation of the great name written there, for the 
 greatest names are those that men have made for
 
 74 IN KEDAR'S TENTS 
 
 themselves. Conyngham replaced the two letters 
 in his pocket, and almost immediately asked : 
 
 " Do you know any one called Barenna in 
 Ronda, senorita ? " thereby proving that General 
 Espartero would do ill to give him an appointment 
 requiring even the earliest rudiments of diplomacy. 
 
 " Julia Barenna is my cousin. Her mother was 
 my mother's sister. Do you know them, Senor 
 Conyngham ? " 
 
 " Oh, no," answered Conyngham, truthfully 
 enough. " I met a man who knows them. Do 
 they live in Ronda ? " 
 
 " No ; their house is on the Cordova road, about 
 half a league from the Customs Station." 
 
 Estella was not by nature curious, and asked no 
 questions. There were many who knew the 
 Barennas that would fain have been able to claim 
 acquaintance with General Vincente and his 
 daughter, but could not do so, for the Captain- 
 General moved in a circle not far removed from 
 the Queen Regent herself, and mixed but little in 
 the society of Ronda, where for the time being he 
 held a command. 
 
 Conyngham required no further information, and 
 in a few moments dismissed the letter from his 
 mind. Events seemed for him to have moved 
 rapidly within the last few days, and the world of 
 roadside inns and casual acquaintance, into which 
 he had stepped on his arrival in Spain, was quite 
 another from that in which Estella moved at 
 Ronda.
 
 IN A MOORISH GARDEN 75 
 
 " I must set out for Madrid in a few days at the 
 latest," he said, a few minutes afterward ; " but I 
 shall go against my will, because you tell me that 
 you and your father will not be coming North 
 until the spring." 
 
 Estella shook her head with a little laugh. This 
 man was different from the punctilious aides-de- 
 camp and others who had hitherto begged most 
 respectfully to notify their admiration. 
 
 " And three days ago you did not know of our 
 existence," she said. 
 
 " In three days a man may be dead of an illness 
 of which he ignored the existence, seiiorita ; in 
 three days a man's life may be made miserable or 
 happy — perhaps in three minutes." 
 
 And she looked straight in front of her in order 
 to avoid his eyes. 
 
 " Yours will always be happy, I think," she said, 
 " because you never seem to go below the surface, 
 and on the surface life is happy enough." 
 
 He made some light answer, and they walked 
 on beneath the orange-trees, talking of these and 
 other matters, which lose all meaning when set 
 down on paper, indulging in those dangerous 
 generalities which sound so safe, and in reality 
 narrow down to a little world of two. 
 
 They were thus engaged when the servant came 
 to announce that the horse, which the general had 
 placed at Conyngham's disposal, was at the door 
 in accordance with the Englishman's own order.
 
 76 IN KEDAR'S TENTS 
 
 He went away sorrowfully enough, only half con- 
 soled by the information that Estella was about to 
 attend a service at the Church of Santa Maria, and 
 could not have stayed longer in the garden. 
 
 The hour of the siesta was scarce over, and as 
 Conyngham rode through the cleanly streets of the 
 ancient town more than one roused himself from 
 the shadow of a doorway to see him pass. There 
 are few older towns in Andalusia than Ronda, and 
 scarce anywhere the habits of the Moors are so 
 closely followed. The streets are clean, the houses 
 whitewashed within and without. The trappings 
 of the mules and much of the costume of the 
 people are Oriental in texture and brilliancy. 
 
 Conyngham asked a passer-by to indicate the 
 way to the Cordova road, and the polite Spaniard 
 turned and walked by his stirrup until a mistake 
 was no longer possible. 
 
 " It is not the most beautiful approach to 
 Ronda," said this garrulous person, " but well 
 enough in the summer, when the flowers are in 
 bloom and the vineyards green. The road is 
 straight and dusty until one arrives at the posses- 
 sion of the Senora Barenna, a light road to the 
 right leading up into the mountain. One can per- 
 ceive the house — oh, yes — upon the hillside, 
 once beautiful, but now old and decayed. Mistake 
 is now impossible. It is a straight way. I wish 
 you a good journey." 
 
 Conyngham rode on, vaguely turning over in
 
 IN A MOORISH GARDEN 
 
 77 
 
 his mind a half-matured plan of effecting a seem- 
 ingly accidental entry to the house of Sefiora 
 Barenna, in the hope of meeting that lady's 
 daughter in the garden or grounds. Once outside 
 the walls of the town he found the country open 
 and bare, consisting of brown hills, of which the 
 lower slopes were dotted with evergreen oaks. 
 The road soon traversed a village which seemed to 
 be half deserted, for men and women alike were 
 working in the fields. On the balcony of the best 
 house a branch of palm bound against the ironwork 
 balustrade indicated the dwelling of the priest, and 
 the form of that village despot was dimly discern- 
 ible in the darkened room behind. Beyond the 
 village Conyngham turned his horse's head toward 
 the mountain, his mind preoccupied with a Machia- 
 vellian scheme of losing his way in this neigh- 
 bourhood. Through the evergreen oak and olive 
 groves he could perceive the roof of an old, gray 
 house, which had once been a mere hacienda or 
 semi-fortified farm. 
 
 Conyngham did not propose to go direct to 
 Senora Barenna's house, but described a semicircle, 
 mounting from terrace to terrace on his sure-footed 
 horse. 
 
 When at length he came in sight of the high 
 gateway, where the ten-foot oaken gates still 
 swung, he perceived some one approaching the exit. 
 On closer inspection he saw that this was a priest, 
 and on nearing him recognised the Padre Concha,
 
 78 IN KEDAR'S TENTS 
 
 whose acquaintance he had made at the hotel of 
 the Marina at Algeciras. 
 
 The recognition was mutual, for the priest 
 raised his shabby old hat with a tender care for the 
 insecurity of its brim. 
 
 " A lucky meeting, Senor Englishman," he said. 
 " Who would have expected to see you here ? " 
 
 " I have lost my way." 
 
 " Ah ! " And the grim face relaxed into a 
 smile. "Lost your way?" 
 
 « Yes." 
 
 " Then it is lucky that I have met you. It is 
 so easy to lose one's way when one is young." 
 
 He raised his hand to the horse's bridle. 
 
 " You are most certainly going in the wrong 
 direction," he said. " I will lead you right." 
 
 It was said and done so quietly that Conyngham 
 had found no word to say before his horse was 
 moving in the opposite direction. 
 
 "This is surely one of General Vincente's 
 horses," said the priest. " We have few such 
 barbs in Ronda. He always rides a good horse, 
 that Miguel Vincente." 
 
 " Yes, it is one of his horses. Then you know 
 the general ? " 
 
 " We were boys together," answered the padre, 
 "and there were some who said that he should 
 have been the priest and I the soldier," 
 
 The old man gave a little laugh. 
 
 " He has prospered, however, if I have not A
 
 IN A MOORISH GARDEN 79 
 
 great man, my dear Miguel ; and they say that his 
 pay is duly handed to him. My own, my princely 
 twenty pounds a year, is overdue. I am happy 
 enough, however, and have a good house. You 
 noticed it, perhaps, as you passed through the vil- 
 lage — a branch of palm against the rail of the bal- 
 cony — my sign, you understand. The innkeeper 
 next door displays a branch of pine, which, I notice, 
 is more attractive. Every man his day. One does 
 not catch rabbits with a dead ferret. That is the 
 church. Will you see it ? No ! Well, some 
 other day. I will guide you through the village. 
 The walk will give me appetite which I sometimes 
 require, for my cook is one whose husband has left 
 her."
 
 CHAPTER VIII 
 
 THE L O V E-L E T T E R 
 
 *' I must mix myself with action lest I wither by despair." 
 
 " No one," Conyngham heard a voice exclaiming, 
 as he went into the garden on returning from his 
 fruitless ride — " no one knows what I have 
 suffered." 
 
 He paused in the dark doorway, not wishing to 
 intrude upon Estella and her visitors, for he per- 
 ceived the forms of three ladies seated within a 
 miniature jungle of bamboo, which grew in feath- 
 ery luxuriance around a fountain. It was not diffi- 
 cult to identify the voice as that of the eldest lady, 
 who was stout and spoke in deep, almost manly 
 tones. So far as he was able to judge, the suffer- 
 ing mentioned had left but small record on its vic- 
 tim's outward appearance. 
 
 " Old girl seems to have stood it well," com- 
 mented the Englishman in his mind. 
 
 " Never again, my dear Estella, do I leave 
 Ronda ; except, indeed, for Toledo, where, of 
 course, we shall go in the summer if this terrible 
 Don Carlos is really driven from the country. Ah ! 
 but what suffering ! My mind is never at ease. 
 I expect to wake up at night and hear that Julia is
 
 THE LOVE-LETTER 81 
 
 being murdered in her bed. For me it does not 
 matter ; my life is not so gay that it will cost me 
 much to part from it. No one would molest an 
 old woman, you think ? Well, that may be so. 
 But I know all the anxiety, for I was once beau- 
 tiful. Ah ! more beautiful than you or Julia ; and 
 my hands and feet — have you ever noticed my 
 foot, Estella ? Even now ..." 
 
 And a sonorous sigh completed the sentence. 
 
 Conyngham stepped out of the doorway, the 
 clank of his spurred heel on the marble pavement 
 causing the sigh to break off in a little scream. He 
 had caught the name of Julia, and hastily concluded 
 that these ladies must be no other than Madame 
 Barenna and her daughter. In the little bamboo 
 grove he found the elder lady lying back in her 
 chair, which creaked ominously, and asking in a 
 faint voice whether he was Don Carlos. 
 
 " No," answered Estella, with a momentary 
 twinkle in her grave, dark eyes; "this is Mr. 
 Conyngham. My aunt, Senora Barenna, and my 
 cousin Julia." 
 
 The ladies bowed. 
 
 " You must excuse me," said Madame Barenna, 
 volubly ; " but your approach was so sudden. I 
 am a great sufferer — my nerves, you know. But 
 young people do not understand." 
 
 And she sighed heavily, with a side glance at 
 her daughter, who did not even appear to be trying 
 to do so. Julia Barenna was darker than her 
 
 6
 
 82 IN KEDAR'S TENTS 
 
 cousin, quicker in manner, with an air of worldly 
 capability which Estella lacked. Her eyes were 
 quick and restless, her face less beautiful, but 
 expressive of a great intelligence, which if brought 
 to bear upon men in the form of coquetry was 
 likely to be infinitely dangerous. 
 
 " It is always best to approach my mother with 
 caution," she said, with a restless movement of her 
 hands. This was not a woman at her ease in the 
 world or at peace with it. She laughed as she 
 spoke, but her eyes were grave even while her 
 lips smiled, and watched the Englishman's face 
 with an air almost of anxiety. There are some 
 faces that seem to be watching and waiting. Julia 
 Barenna's had such a look. 
 
 " Conyngham," said Madame Barenna, reflec- 
 tively. " Surely I have heard that name before. 
 You are not the Englishman with whom Father 
 Concha is so angry, who sells forbidden books — 
 the Bible, it is said." 
 
 " No, senora," answered Conyngham, with 
 perfect gravity ; " I have nothing to sell." 
 
 He laughed suddenly, and looked at the elder 
 lady with that air of good-humour which won for 
 him more friends than he ever wanted, for this 
 Irishman had a ray of sunshine in his heart which 
 shone upon his path through life, and made that 
 uneven way easier for his feet. He glanced at 
 Julia, and saw in her eyes the look of expectancy 
 which was in reality always there. The thought
 
 THE LOVE-LETTER 83 
 
 flashed through his mind that by some means, or, 
 perhaps feminine intuition beyond his comprehen- 
 sion, she knew that he possessed the letter addressed 
 to her, and was eagerly awaiting it. This letter 
 seemed to have been gaining in importance the 
 longer he carried it, and this opportunity of giving 
 it to her came at the right moment. He remem- 
 bered Larralde's words concerning the person to 
 whom the missive was addressed, and the high- 
 flown sentiments of that somewhat theatrical gen- 
 tleman became in some degree justified. Julia 
 Barenna was a woman who might well awaken a 
 passionate love. Conyngham realised this, as from 
 a distance, while Julia's mother spoke of some 
 trivial matter of the moment to unheeding ears. 
 That distance seemed now to exist between him 
 and all women. It had come suddenly, and one 
 glance of Estella's eyes had called it into existence. 
 
 " Yes," Senora Barenna was saying, " Father 
 Concha is very angry with the English. What a 
 terrible man ! You do not know him, Senor 
 Conyngham ? " 
 
 " I think I have met him, senora." 
 
 " Ah ! but you have never seen him angry. 
 You have never confessed to him ! A little, little 
 sin, no longer than the eye of a fly — a little bite 
 of a calf's sweetbread on Friday in mere forgetful- 
 ness — and, Sancta Maria, what a penance is 
 required ! What suffering ! It is a purgatory to 
 have such a confessor."
 
 84 IN KEDAR'S TENTS 
 
 " Surely madame can have no sins," said 
 Conyngham, pleasantly. 
 
 " Not now," said Senora Barenna, with a deep 
 sigh. " When I was young it was different." 
 
 And the memory of her sinful days almost 
 moved her to tears. She glanced at Conyngham 
 with a tragic air of mutual understanding, as if 
 drawing a veil over that blissful past in the pre- 
 sence of Julia and Estella. " Ask me another 
 time," that glance seemed to say. 
 
 " Yes," the lady continued ; " Father Concha 
 is very angry with the English. Firstly, because of 
 these Bibles. Blessed Heaven, what does it mat- 
 ter ! No one can read them except the priests, 
 and they do not want to do so. Secondly, be- 
 cause the English have helped to overthrow Don 
 Carlos—" 
 
 " You will have a penance," interrupted Miss 
 Julia Barenna, quietly, " from Father Concha for 
 talking politics." 
 
 " But how will he know ? " asked Senora 
 Barenna, sharply, and the two young ladies laughed. 
 
 Senora Barenna looked from one to the other 
 and shrugged her shoulders. Like many women, 
 she was a strange mixture of foolishness and 
 worldly wisdom. She adjusted her mantilla and 
 mutely appealed to heaven with a glance of her 
 upturned eyes. 
 
 Conyngham, who was no diplomatist nor pos- 
 sessed any skill in concealing his thoughts, looked
 
 THE LOVE-LETTER 85 
 
 with some interest at Julia Barenna, and Estella 
 watched him. 
 
 "Julia is right," Senora Barenna was saying, 
 though nobody heeded her. " One must not talk 
 nor even think politics in this country. You are 
 no politician, I trust, Senor Conyngham. Senor 
 Conyngham, I ask you, you are no politician ? ' 
 
 "No, senora," replied Conyngham, hastily — 
 "no; and if I were, I should never understand 
 Spanish politics." 
 
 " Father Concha says that Spanish politics are 
 the same as those of any other country — each 
 man for himself," said Julia, with a bitter laugh. 
 
 " And he is, no doubt, right." 
 
 " Do you really think so ? " asked Julia Ba- 
 renna, with more earnestness than the question 
 would seem to require. "Are there not true 
 patriots who sacrifice all — not only their friends, 
 but themselves — to the cause of their country ? " 
 
 " Without the hope of reward ? " 
 
 " Yes." 
 
 " There may be, senorita, a few," answered 
 Conyngham, with a laugh ; " but not in my 
 country. They must all be in Spain." 
 
 She smiled and shook her head in doubt, but it 
 was a worn smile. 
 
 The Englishman turned away and looked through 
 the trees. He was wondering how he could get 
 speech with Julia alone for a moment. 
 
 "You are admiring the garden," said that young
 
 86 IN KEDAR'S TENTS 
 
 lady, and this time he knew that there had in 
 reality been that meaning in her eyes which he had 
 imagined to be there. 
 
 " Yes, senorita ; I think it must be the most 
 beautiful garden in the world." 
 
 He turned as he spoke and looked at Estella, 
 who met his glance quietly. Her repose of manner 
 struck him afresh. Here was a woman having 
 that air of decision which exacts respect alike from 
 men and women. Seen thus with the more 
 vivacious Julia at her side, Estella gained suddenly 
 in moral strength and depth, suggesting a hidden 
 fire in contrast to a flickering will-o'-the-wisp 
 blown hither and thither on every zephyr. Yet 
 Julia Barenna would pass anywhere as a woman of 
 will and purpose. 
 
 Julia had risen, and was moving toward the 
 exit of the little grove in which they found them- 
 selves. Conyngham had never been seated. 
 
 " Are the violets in bloom, Estella ? I must 
 see them," said the visitor. "We have none at 
 home, where all is dry and parched." 
 
 " So bad for the nerves — what suffering ! — 
 such a dry soil that one cannot sleep at night," 
 murmured Madame Barenna, preparing to rise 
 from her seat. 
 
 Julia and Conyngham naturally led the way. 
 The paths winding in and out among the palms and 
 pepper-trees were of a width that allowed two to 
 walk abreast.
 
 THE LOVE-LETTER 87 
 
 " Senorita, I have a letter for you." 
 
 " Not yet ; wait." 
 
 Senora Barenna was chattering in her deep, 
 husky tones immediately behind them. Julia 
 turned and looked up at the windows of the house, 
 which commanded a full view of the garden. The 
 dwelling-rooms were, as usual, upon the first floor, 
 and the windows were lightly barred with curiously 
 wrought iron. Each window was curtained within 
 with lace and muslin. 
 
 The paths wound in and out among the trees, 
 but none of these was large enough to afford 
 a secure screen from the eye of any watcher within 
 the house. There was neither eucalyptus nor 
 ilex in the garden, which are heavy-leafed and 
 afford shelter. Julia and Conyngham walked on, 
 outdistancing the elder lady and Estella. From 
 these, many a turn in the path hid them from time 
 to time, but Julia was distrustful of the windows, 
 and hesitated in an agony of nervousness. Conyng- 
 ham saw that her face was quite colourless, and 
 her teeth closed convulsively over her lower lip. 
 He continued to talk of indifferent topics, but the 
 answers she made were incoherent and broken. 
 The course of true love did not seem to run smooth 
 here. 
 
 " Shall I give you the letter ? No one can see 
 us, senorita. Besides, I was informed that it is of 
 no importance except to yourself. You have 
 doubtless had many such before, unless the Spanish 
 gentlemen are blind."
 
 88 IN KEDAR'S TENTS 
 
 He laughed and felt in his pocket. 
 
 " Yes," she whispered. " Quickly now ! " 
 
 He gave her the letter in its romantic, pink, 
 scented envelope, with a half-suppressed smile at 
 her eagerness. Would anybody, would Estella 
 ever be thus agitated at the receipt of a letter from 
 himself? They were at the lower end of the 
 garden, which was divided almost in two by a 
 broader pathway leading from the house to the 
 centre of the garden, where a fountain of Moorish 
 marble formed a sort of carrefour, from which the 
 narrower pathways diverged in all directions. 
 
 Descending the steps into the garden from the 
 house were two men, one talking violently, the 
 other seeking to calm him. 
 
 " My uncle and the alcalde. They have seen 
 us from the windows," said Julia, quickly. All her 
 nervousness of manner seemed to have vanished, 
 leaving her concentrated and alert. Some men 
 are thus in warfare, nervous until the rifles open 
 fire, and then cool and ready. 
 
 " Quick," whispered Julia, " let us turn back." 
 
 She wheeled round and Conyngham did the 
 same. 
 
 " Julia," they heard General Vincente call in 
 his gentle voice. 
 
 Julia, who was tearing the pink envelope, took 
 no heed. Within the first covering a second 
 envelope appeared bearing a longer address. 
 
 " Give that to the man whose address it bears,
 
 THE LOVE-LETTER 89 
 
 and save me from ruin," said the girl, thrusting the 
 letter into Conyngham's hand. She kept the pink 
 envelope. 
 
 When, a minute later, they came face to face 
 with General Vincente and his companion, a white- 
 faced, fluttering man of sixty years, Julia Barenna 
 received them with a smile. There are some 
 men who, conscious of their own quickness of 
 resource, are careless of danger and run into it 
 from mere heedlessness, trusting to good fortune to 
 aid them should peril arise. Frederick Conyngham 
 was one of these. He now suspected that this 
 was no love-letter which the man called Larralde 
 had given him in Algeciras. 
 
 "Julia," said the general, "the alcalde desires 
 to speak with you." 
 
 Julia bowed with that touch of hauteur which 
 in Spain the nobles ever observe in their manner 
 toward the municipal authorities. 
 
 " Mr. Conyngham," continued the general, 
 " this is our brave mayor, in whose hands rests the 
 well-being of the people of Ronda." 
 
 " Honoured to meet you," said Conyngham, 
 holding out his hand with that frankness of man- 
 ner which he accorded to great and small alike. 
 The alcalde, a man of immense importance in his 
 own estimation, hesitated before accepting it. 
 
 " General," he said, turning and bowing very 
 low to Senora Barenna and Estella, who now 
 joined them — " general, I leave you to ex-
 
 9 o IN KEDAR'S TENTS 
 
 plain to your niece the painful duties of my 
 office." 
 
 The general smiled, and raised a deprecating 
 shoulder. 
 
 " Well, my dear," he said kindly to Julia, " it 
 appears that our good alcalde has news of a letter 
 which is at present passing from hand to hand in 
 Andalusia. It is a letter of some importance. 
 Our good mayor, who was at the window a min- 
 ute ago, saw Mr. Conyngham hand you a letter. 
 Between persons who only met in this garden five 
 minutes ago, such a transaction had a strange air. 
 Our good friend, who is all zeal for Spain and the 
 people of Ronda, merely asks you if his eyes de- 
 ceived him. It is a matter over which we shall 
 all laugh presently over a lemonade ; is it not so ? 
 A trifle — eh ? " 
 
 He passed his handkerchief across his mous- 
 tache, and looked affectionately at his niece. 
 
 " A letter ! " exclaimed Julia. " Surely the 
 alcalde presumes. He takes too much upon 
 himself." 
 
 The official stepped forward. 
 
 " Senorita," he said, " I must be allowed to 
 take that risk. Did this gentleman give you a 
 letter three minutes ago ? " 
 
 Julia laughed and shrugged her shoulders. 
 
 "Yes." 
 
 " May I ask the nature of the letter ? " 
 
 " It was a love-letter."
 
 THE LOVE-LETTER 91 
 
 Conyngham bit his lip and looked at Estella. 
 
 The alcalde looked doubtful, with the cunning 
 lips of a cheap country lawyer. 
 
 " A love-letter from a gentleman you have 
 never seen before," he said, with a forced laugh. 
 
 " Pardon me, Senor Alcalde, this gentleman 
 travelled in the same ship with my mother and 
 myself from Bordeaux to Algeciras, and he saved 
 my life." 
 
 She cast a momentary glance at Conyngham, 
 which would have sealed his fate had the fiery Mr. 
 Larralde been there to see it. The prefect paused, 
 somewhat taken aback. There was a momentary 
 silence, and every moment gave Julia and Conyng- 
 ham time to think. 
 
 Then the alcalde turned to Conyngham. 
 
 " It will give me the greatest pleasure," he 
 said, " to learn that I have been mistaken. I 
 have only to ask this gentleman's confirmation of 
 what the senorita has said. Is it true, senor, that 
 you surreptitiously handed to the Senorita Barenna 
 a letter expressing your love ? " 
 
 " Since the senorita has done me the honour of 
 confessing it, I must ask you to believe it," 
 answered Conyngham, steadily and with coldness.
 
 CHAPTER IX 
 
 A WAR OF WIT 
 
 "La discretion est Tart du mensonge." 
 
 The alcalde blew out his cheeks and looked at 
 General Vincente. Seilora Barenna would with 
 small encouragement have thrown herself into 
 Conyngham's arms, but she received none what- 
 ever, and instead frowned at Julia. E Stella was 
 looking haughtily at her father, and would not 
 meet Conyngham's glance. 
 
 " I feel sure," said General Vincente, in his 
 most conciliating manner, " that my dear Julia will 
 see the necessity of satisfying the good alcalde by 
 showing him the letter, with, of course, the con- 
 sent of my friend Conyngham." 
 
 He laughed and slipped his hand within Conyng- 
 ham's arm. 
 
 " You see, my dear friend," he said in English, 
 " these local magnates are a little inflated ; local 
 magnitude is a little inclined to inflate — eh ? Ha ! 
 ha ! And it is so easy to conciliate them. I 
 always try to do so myself. Peace at any price, 
 that is my motto." 
 
 And he turned aside to arrange his sword, which 
 dragged on the ground.
 
 A WAR OF WIT 93 
 
 " Tell her, my dear Conyngham, to let the old 
 gentleman read the letter." 
 
 " But it is nothing to do with me, general." 
 
 " I know that, my friend, as well as you do," 
 said Vincente, with a sudden change of manner 
 which left the Englishman with an uncomfortable 
 desire to know what he meant. But General 
 Vincente, in pursuit of that peace which had 
 earned him such a terrible reputation in war, 
 turned to Senora Barenna with his most reassuring 
 smile. 
 
 " It is nothing, my dear Inez," he said. " In 
 these times of trouble, the officials are so suspi- 
 cious, and our dear alcalde knows too much. He 
 remembers dear Julia's little affair with Esteban 
 Larralde, now long since lived down and for- 
 gotten. Larralde is, it appears, a malcontent, and 
 on the wrong side of the wall. You need have 
 no uneasiness. Ah ! your nerves ; yes, I know. 
 A great sufferer — yes, I remember. Patience, 
 dear Inez, patience." 
 
 And he patted her stout white hand affection- 
 ately. 
 
 The alcalde was taking snuff with a stubborn 
 air of disbelief, glancing the while suspiciously 
 at Conyngham, who had eyes for none but 
 E Stella. 
 
 " Alcalde," said General Vincente, " the inci- 
 dent is past, as we say in the diplomatic service 
 — a lemonade now."
 
 94 IN KEDAR'S TENTS 
 
 " No, general, the incident is not past, and I 
 will not have a lemonade." 
 
 " Oh ! " exclaimed General Vincente, in gentle 
 horror. 
 
 " Yes. This young lady must give me the 
 letter or I call in my men." 
 
 " But your men could not touch a lady, my 
 dear alcalde." 
 
 " You may be the alcalde of Ronda," said 
 Conyngham, cheerfully, in continuation of the 
 general's argument, " but if you offer such an 
 insult to Senorita Barenna, I throw you into the 
 fountain — in the deepest part, where it is wettest 
 — just there by the marble dolphin." 
 
 And Conyngham indicated the exact spot with 
 his riding-whip. 
 
 " Who is this gentleman ? " asked the alcalde. 
 The question was, in the first place, addressed to 
 space and the gods. After a moment the speaker 
 turned to General Vincente. 
 
 "A prospective aide-de-camp of General 
 Espartero." 
 
 At the mention of the great name the mayor of 
 Ronda became beautifully less, and half bowed to 
 Conyngham. 
 
 "I must do my duty," he said, with the stub- 
 bornness of a small mind. 
 
 " And what do you conceive that to be, my 
 dear alcalde ? " inquired the general. 
 
 " To place the Senorita Barenna under arrest,
 
 A WAR OF WIT 95 
 
 unless she will hand to me the letter she has in 
 her possession." 
 
 Julia looked at him with a smile. She was a 
 brave woman playing a dangerous game with con- 
 summate courage, and never glanced at Conyngham, 
 who with an effort kept his hand away from the 
 pocket where the letter lay concealed. The man- 
 ner in which she trusted him unreservedly and 
 entirely was in itself cunning enough, for it ap- 
 pealed to that sense of chivalry which is not yet 
 dead in men despite the advance of women. 
 
 " Place me under arrest, Senor Alcalde," she 
 said indifferently, " and when you have satisfied 
 me that you have a right to inspect a lady's private 
 correspondence, I will submit to be searched, but 
 not before." 
 
 She made a little signal to Conyngham not to 
 interfere. 
 
 Senora Barenna took this opportunity of assert- 
 ing herself and nerves. She sat heavily down on 
 a stone seat and wept. She could hardly have 
 done better, for she was a countess in her own 
 right, and the sight of high-born tears distinctly 
 unnerved the alcalde. 
 
 " Well," he said, " the senorita has made her own 
 choice. In these times," he glanced nervously 
 at the weeping lady, " one must do one's duty." 
 
 " My dear Julia," protested the general, " you 
 who are so sensible — " 
 
 Julia shrugged her shoulders and laughed. She
 
 96 IN KEDAR'S TENTS 
 
 not only trusted Conyngham, but relied upon his 
 intelligence. It is, as a rule, safer to confide in 
 the honesty of one's neighbour than in his wit. 
 Better still, trust in neither. Conyngham, who 
 was quick enough when the moment required it, 
 knew that she was fostering the belief that the let- 
 ter at that moment in his pocket was in her pos- 
 session. He suspected also that he and Julia 
 Barenna were playing with life and death. 
 Further, he recognised her and her voice. This 
 was the woman who had shown discrimination and 
 calmness in face of a great danger on the Garonne. 
 Had this Englishman, owning as he did to a strain 
 of Irish blood, turned his back upon her and 
 danger at such a moment, he would assuredly 
 have proved himself untrue to the annals of that 
 race which has made a mark upon the world that 
 will never be wiped out. He looked at the alcalde 
 and smiled, whereupon that official turned and 
 made a signal v/ith his hand to a man who, dressed 
 in a quiet uniform, had appeared in the doorway of 
 the house. 
 
 " What the deuce we are all trying to do I don't 
 know," reflected Conyngham, who, indeed, was 
 sufficiently at sea to awake the most dormant 
 suspicions. 
 
 The alcalde, now thoroughly aroused, protested 
 his inability to neglect a particle of his duty at this 
 troubled period of Spain's history, and announced 
 his intention of placing Julia Barenna under sur-
 
 A WAR OF WIT 
 
 97 
 
 veillance until she handed to him the letter she had 
 received from Conyngham. 
 
 " I am quite prepared," he added, " to give this 
 caballero the benefit of the doubt, and assume that 
 he has been in this matter the tool of unscrupulous 
 persons. Seeing that he is a friend of General 
 Vincente's, and has an introduction to his excel- 
 lency the Duke of Vittoria, he is without the pale 
 of my jurisdiction." 
 
 The alcalde made Conyngham a profound bow, 
 and proceeded to conduct Julia and her indignant 
 mother to their carriage. 
 
 " There goes," said General Vincente, with his 
 most optimistic little chuckle, " a young woman 
 whose head will always be endangered by her 
 heart." And he nodded toward Julia's retreating 
 form. 
 
 Estella turned and walked away by herself. 
 
 " Come," said the general to Conyngham, " let 
 us sit down ; I have news for you. But what a 
 susceptible heart, my dear young friend — what a 
 susceptible heart ! Julia is, I admit, a very pretty 
 girl — la beaut'e du (liable — eh ? But on so short 
 an acquaintance rather rapid — rather rapid ! " 
 
 As he spoke he was searching among some let- 
 ters, which he had produced from his pocket, and 
 at length found an official envelope that had already 
 been opened. 
 
 " I have here," he said, " a letter from Madrid. 
 You have only to proceed to the capital, and there, 
 
 7
 
 9 8 IN KEDAR'S TENTS 
 
 I hope, a post awaits you. Your duties will at 
 present be of a semi-military character, but later, 
 I hope, we can show you some righting. This 
 pestilential Cabrera is not yet quelled, and Morella 
 still holds out. Yes, there will be fighting." 
 
 He closed the letter and looked at Conyngham. 
 
 " If that is what you want," he added. 
 
 " Yes, that is what I want." 
 
 The general nodded and rose, pausing to brush 
 a few grains of dust from his dapper riding 
 breeches. 
 
 "Come," he said, " I have seen a horse which 
 will suit you, at the cavalry quarters in the Calle 
 de Bobadilla. Shall we go and look at him ? " 
 
 Conyngham expressed his readiness to do as the 
 general proposed. 
 
 " When shall I start for Madrid ?" he asked. 
 
 " Oh, to-morrow morning will be time enough," 
 was the reply, uttered in an easy-going, indolent 
 tone, " if you are early astir. You see, it is now 
 nearly five o'clock, and you could scarcely be in 
 the saddle before sunset." 
 
 " No," laughed Conyngham ; " scarcely, consid- 
 ering that I have not yet bought the saddle or the 
 horse." 
 
 The general led the way into the house, and 
 Conyngham thought of the letter in his pocket. 
 He had not yet read the address. Julia relied upon 
 him to deliver it, and her conduct toward the 
 alcalde had the evident object of gaining time for
 
 A WAR OF WIT 99 
 
 him to do so. She had unhesitatingly thrust her- 
 self into a position of danger to screen him and 
 further her own indomitable purpose. He thought 
 of her, still as from a distance at which Estella had 
 placed him, and knew that she not only had a dis- 
 quieting beauty, but cleverness and courage, which 
 are qualities that outlast beauty and make a woman 
 powerful forever. 
 
 When he and his companion emerged from the 
 great doorway of the house into the sunlight of the 
 Calle Mayor a man came forward from the shade 
 of a neighbouring doorway. It was Concepcion 
 Vara, leisurely and dignified, twirling a cigarette 
 between his brown fingers. He saluted the general 
 with one finger to the brim of his shabby felt hat, 
 as one great man might salute another. He 
 nodded to Conyngham. 
 
 " When does his excellency take the road 
 again ? " he said. " I am ready. The guardia 
 civile were mistaken this time ; the judge said there 
 was no stain upon my name." 
 
 He shrugged his shoulder and waived away the 
 slight put upon him with the magnanimity of one 
 who can forgive and forget. 
 
 " I take the road to-morrow ; but our contract 
 ceased at Ronda. I had no intention of taking 
 you on." 
 
 " You are not satisfied with me ? " inquired 
 Concepcion, offering his interlocutor the cigarette 
 he had just made.
 
 ioo IN KEDAR'S TENTS 
 
 « Oh, yes." 
 
 " Buen ! We take the road together." 
 
 " Then there is nothing more to be said ? " in- 
 quired Conyngham, with a good-natured laugh. 
 
 " Nothing, except the hour at which your excel- 
 lency starts." 
 
 " Six o'clock," put in General Vincente, quietly. 
 " Let me see ; your name is Concepcion Vara." 
 
 " Yes, excellency, of Algeciras." 
 
 " It is well. Then serve this gentleman well, 
 or else — " the general paused and laughed in his 
 most deprecating manner. 
 
 Concepcion seemed to understand, for he took 
 off his hat and turned gravely away. The general 
 and Conyngham walked rapidly through the streets 
 of Ronda, than which there are none cleaner in the 
 whole world, and duly bought a great black horse 
 at a price which seemed moderate enough to the 
 Englishman, though the vendor explained that the 
 long war had made horseflesh rise in value. 
 Conyngham, at no time a keen bargainer, hurried 
 the matter to an end, and scarce examined the sad- 
 dle. He was anxious to get back to the garden of 
 the great house in the Calle Mayor before the 
 cool of the evening came to drive Estella indoors. 
 
 " You will doubtless wish to pack your portman- 
 teau," said the general, rather breathlessly, as he 
 hurried along with small steps beside Conyngham. 
 
 " Yes," answered that Englishman, ingenuously 
 — " yes, of course."
 
 A WAR OF WIT 101 
 
 " Then I will not detain you," said General 
 Vincente ; " I have affairs at headquarters. We 
 meet at dinner, of course.'' 
 
 He waved a little salutation with his whip, and 
 took a side turning. 
 
 The sun had not set when Conyngham, with a 
 beating heart, made his way through the house into 
 the garden. He had never been so serious about 
 anything in his life ; indeed, his life seemed only to 
 have begun in that garden. Estella was there. 
 He saw her black dress and mantilla through the 
 trees, and the gleam of her golden hair made his 
 eyes almost fierce for a moment. 
 
 " I am going to-morrow morning," he said 
 bluntly, when he reached her where she sat in the 
 shade of a mimosa. 
 
 She raised her eyes for a moment, deep velvet 
 eyes, with a glowing depth of passion in them that 
 made his heart leap within his breast. 
 
 " And I love you, Estella," he added. " You 
 may be offended, you may despise me, you may 
 distrust me ; but nothing can alter me. I love 
 you now and ever." 
 
 She drew a deep breath and sat motionless. 
 
 " How many women does an Englishman love 
 at once ? " she asked coldly at length. 
 
 " Only one, senorita." 
 
 He stood looking at her for a moment. Then 
 she rose and walked past him into the house.
 
 CHAPTER X 
 
 THE CITY OF DISCONTENT 
 
 " En paroles ou en actions, etre discret, c'est s'abstenir." 
 
 " There is," observed Frederick Conyngham to 
 himself, as he climbed into the saddle in the gray 
 dawn of the following morning — " there is a cer- 
 tain picturesqueness about these proceedings which 
 pleases me." 
 
 Concepcion Vara, indeed, supplied a portion of 
 this romantic atmosphere, for he was dressed in 
 the height of contrabandista fashion, with a bright- 
 coloured handkerchief folded round his head under- 
 neath his black hat, a scarlet waistcloth, a spotless 
 shirt, and a flower in the ribbon of his hat. 
 
 He was dignified and leisurely, but so far forgot 
 himself as to sing as he threw his leg across his 
 horse. A dark-eyed maiden had come as far as 
 the corner of the Calle Vieja, and stood there 
 watching him with mournful eyes. He waved her 
 salutation as he passed. 
 
 " It is the waiting-maid at the venta where I stay 
 in Ronda. What will you ? " he explained to 
 Conyngham with a modest air, as he cocked his 
 hat further on one side.
 
 THE CITY OF DISCONTENT 
 
 103 
 
 The sun rose as they emerged from the narrow 
 streets into the open country that borders the road 
 to Bobadilla. A pastoral country this, where the 
 land needs little care to make it give more than 
 man requires for his daily food. The evergreen oak 
 studded over the whole plain supplies food for count- 
 less pigs, and shade, where the herdsmen may dream 
 away the sunny days. The rich soil would yield 
 two or even three crops in the year were the neces- 
 sary seed and labour forthcoming. Underground 
 the mineral wealth outvies the richness of the sur- 
 face, but national indolence leaves it unexplored. 
 
 " Before General Vincente one could not ex- 
 plain one's self," said Concepcion, urging his horse 
 to keep pace with the trot of Conyngham's mount. 
 
 « Ah ! " 
 
 " No," pursued Concepcion ; " and yet it is 
 simple. In Algeciras I have a wife. It is well 
 that a man should travel at times. So " — he 
 paused and bowed toward his companion with a 
 gesture of infinite condescension — " so we take 
 the road together." 
 
 " As long as you are pleased, Senor Vara," 
 said Conyngham, " I am sure I can but feel hon- 
 oured. You know I have no money." 
 
 The Spaniard shrugged his shoulders. 
 
 " What matter ? " he said — " what matter ? 
 We can keep an account — a mere piece of paper — 
 so, Concepcion Vara, of Algeciras, in account 
 current with F. Conyngham, Englishman. One
 
 io 4 IN KEDAR'S TENTS 
 
 month's wages at one hundred pesetas. It is 
 simple." 
 
 " Very," acquiesced Conyngham ; " it is only 
 when pay-day comes that things will get com- 
 plicated." 
 
 Concepcion laughed. 
 
 " You are a caballero after my own heart," he 
 said. " We shall enjoy ourselves in Madrid. I 
 see that." 
 
 Conyngham did not answer. He had remem- 
 bered the letter and Julia Barenna's danger. He 
 rose in his stirrups and looked behind him. Ronda 
 was already hidden by intervening hills, and the 
 bare line of the roadway was unbroken by the 
 form of any other traveller. 
 
 "We are not going to Madrid yet," said 
 Conyngham ; " we are going to Xeres, where I 
 have business. Do you know the road to Xeres ? " 
 
 " As well that as any other, excellency." 
 
 " What do you mean ? " 
 
 " I know no roads north of Ronda. I am of 
 Andalusia, I," replied Concepcion, easily, and he 
 looked round about him with an air of interest 
 which was more to the credit of his intelligence 
 as a traveller than his reliability as a guide. 
 
 " But you engaged to guide me to Madrid." 
 
 " Yes, excellency, by asking the way," replied 
 Concepcion, with an easy laugh, and he struck a 
 sulphur match on the neck of his horse to light a 
 fresh cigarette.
 
 THE CITY OF DISCONTENT 105 
 
 Thus with an easy heart Frederick Conyngham 
 set out on his journey, having for companion one 
 as irresponsible as himself. He had determined to 
 go to Xeres, though that town of ill-repute lay far 
 to the westward of his road toward the capital. It 
 would have been simple enough to destroy the 
 letter entrusted to him by Julia Barenna, a stranger 
 whom he was likely never to see again — simple 
 enough and infinitely safer, as he suspected, for the 
 billet-doux of Mr. Larralde smelt of grimmer 
 things than love. But Julia Barenna, wittingly or 
 in all innocence, appealed to that sense of chivalry 
 which is essentially the quality of lonely men who 
 have never had sisters, and Conyngham was ready 
 to help Julia where he would have refused his 
 assistance to a man, however hard pressed. 
 
 "Cannot leave the girl in a hole," he had said 
 to himself, and proceeded to act upon this resolu- 
 tion with a steadiness of purpose for which some 
 may blame him. 
 
 It was evening when the two travellers reached 
 Xeres, after some weary hours of monotonous 
 progress through the vine-clad plains of this, 
 country. 
 
 " It is no wonder," said Concepcion, " that the 
 men of Xeres are malcontents when they live in a 
 country as flat as the palm of my hand." 
 
 It happened to be a fete day, which in Spain, as 
 in other countries farther North, is synonymous 
 with mischief. The men of Xeres had taken
 
 106 IN KEDAR'S TENTS 
 
 advantage of this holiday to demonstrate their de- 
 sire for more. They had marched through the 
 streets with banner and song, arrayed in their best 
 clothes, fostering their worst thoughts. They had 
 consumed marvellous quantities of that small 
 amontillado, which is, as it were, as thin fire to 
 the blood, heating and degenerating at once. They 
 had talked much nonsense and listened to more. 
 Carlist or Christino, it was all the same to them 
 so long as they had a change of some sort. In 
 the mean time they had a desire to break some- 
 thing, if only to assert their liberty. 
 
 A few minutes before Conyngham and his guide 
 rode into the market-place, which in Xeres is as 
 long as a street, some of the free sons of Spain had 
 thought fit to shout insulting remarks to a passer- 
 by. With a fire too bright for his years, this old 
 gentleman, with fierce white moustache and impe- 
 rial, had turned on them, calling them good-for- 
 nothings and sons of pigs. 
 
 Conyngham rode up just in time to see the 
 ruffians rise as one man and rush at the victim of 
 their humour. The old man, with his back to the 
 wall, beat back his assailants with a sort of fierce 
 joy in his attitude which betokened the old soldier. 
 
 " Come on, Concepcion," cried Conyngham, 
 with a dig of the spurs that made his tired horse 
 leap into the air. He charged down upon the 
 gathering crowd, which scattered right and left 
 before the wild onslaught} but he saw the flash
 
 THE CITY OF DISCONTENT 107 
 
 of steel, and knew that it was too late. The old 
 man, with an oath and a gasp of pain, sank against 
 the wall with the blood trickling through the 
 fingers clasped .against his breast. Conyngham 
 would have reined in, but Concepcion on his 
 heels gave the charger a cut with his heavy whip 
 that made him bound forward, and would have 
 unseated a short-stirruped rider. 
 
 " Go on ! " cried the Spaniard ; " it is no busi- 
 ness of ours. The police are behind." 
 
 And Conyngham, remembering the letter in his 
 pocket, rode on without looking back. In the 
 day of which the present narrative treats the streets 
 of Xeres were but ill-paved, and the dust lay on 
 them to the depth of many inches, serving to 
 deaden the sound of footsteps and facilitate the 
 commission of such deeds of violence as were at 
 this time of daily occurrence in Spain. Riding on 
 at random, Conyngham and his companion soon 
 lost their way in the narrow streets, and were able 
 to satisfy themselves that none had followed them. 
 Here, in a quiet alley, Conyngham read again the 
 address of the letter of which he earnestly desired 
 to rid himself without more ado. 
 
 It was addressed to Colonel Monreal, at No. 84 
 Plaza de Cadiz. 
 
 " Let his excellency stay here and drink a glass 
 of wine at this venta" said Concepcion. " Alone, 
 I shall be able to get information without attract- 
 ing attention. And then in the name of the saints
 
 108 IN KEDAR'S TENTS 
 
 let us shake the dust of Xeres off our feet. The 
 first thing we see is steel, and I do not like it. I 
 have a wife in Algeciras, to whom I am much 
 attached, and I am afraid — yes, afraid. A gentle- 
 man need never hesitate to say so." 
 
 He shook his head forebodingly as he loosened 
 his girths and called for water for the horses. 
 
 " I could eat a cocida" he went on, sniffing the 
 odours of a neighbouring kitchen, " with plenty of 
 onions and all the mutton as becomes the spring- 
 time, young and tender. Dios ! this quick travel- 
 ling and an empty stomach, it kills one." 
 
 " When I have delivered my letter," replied 
 Conyngham, " we shall eat with a lighter heart." 
 
 Concepcion went away in a pessimistic humour. 
 He was one of those men who are brave enough 
 on good wine and victuals, but lack the stamina to 
 fight when hungry. He returned presently with 
 the required information. The Plaza de Cadiz 
 was, it appeared, quite close. Indeed, the town of 
 Xeres is not large, though the intricacies of its 
 narrow streets may well puzzle a newcomer. No. 
 84 was the house of the barber, and on his first 
 floor lived Colonel Monreal, a retired veteran who 
 had fought with the English against Napoleon's 
 armies. 
 
 During his servant's absence Conyngham had 
 written a short note in French, conveying in terms 
 which she would understand, the news that Julia 
 Barenna doubtless awaited with impatience —
 
 THE CITY OF DISCONTENT 109 
 
 namely, that her letter had been delivered to him 
 whose address it bore. 
 
 " I have ordered your cocida and some good 
 wine," he said to Concepcion. " Your horse also 
 is feeding. Make good use of your time, for when 
 I return I shall want you to take the road again at 
 once. You must make ten miles before sleep to- 
 night, and then an early start in the morning." 
 
 " For where, seiior ? " 
 
 « For Ronda." 
 
 Concepcion shrugged his shoulders. His life had 
 been spent upon the road, his wardrobe since child- 
 hood had been contained in a saddle-bag, and 
 Spaniards, above all people, have the curse of 
 Ishmael. They are a homeless race, and lay them 
 down to sleep when fatigue overtakes them under 
 a tree or in the shade of a stone wall. It often 
 happens that a worker in the fields will content 
 himself with the lee side of a haystack for his rest- 
 ing-place, when his home is only a few hundred 
 yards up the mountain-side. 
 
 " And his excellency ? " inquired Concepcion. 
 
 " I shall sleep here to-night and proceed to 
 Madrid to-morrow by way of Cordova, where I 
 will wait for you. I have a letter here which you 
 must deliver to the Sefiorita Barenna, at Ronda, 
 without the knowledge of any one. It will be well 
 that neither General Vincente nor any other who 
 knows you should catch sight of you in the streets 
 of Ronda."
 
 no IN KEDAR'S TENTS 
 
 Concepcion nodded his head with much 
 philosophy. 
 
 "Ah! these women," he said, turning to the 
 steaming dish of mutton and vegetables, which is 
 almost universal in the South — " these women, 
 what shoe leather they cost us ! " 
 
 Leaving his servant thus profitably employed, 
 Conyngham set out to find the barber's shop in the 
 Plaza de Cadiz. This he did without difficulty, 
 but on informing himself at the door of Colonel 
 Monreal's apartment learnt that that gentleman 
 was out. 
 
 " But," added the servant, " the colonel is a 
 man of regular habits. He will return within the 
 next fifteen minutes, for he dines at five." 
 
 Conyngham paused. He had no desire to make 
 Colonel Monreal's acquaintance ; indeed, preferred 
 to remain without it, for he rightly judged that Senor 
 Larralde was engaged in affairs best left alone. 
 
 " I have a letter for the colonel," he said to the 
 servant, a man of stupid countenance. " I will 
 place it here upon his table, and can, no doubt, 
 trust you to see that he gets it." 
 
 "That you can, excellency," replied the man, 
 with a palm already half extended to receive a 
 gratuity. 
 
 " If the colonel fails to receive the letter I shall 
 certainly know it," said Conyngham, stumbling 
 down the dark staircase and well pleased to have 
 accomplished his mission.
 
 THE CITY OF DISCONTENT in 
 
 He returned with all speed to the inn in the 
 quiet alley, where he had elected to pass the night, 
 and found Concepcion still at table. 
 
 " In half an hour I take the road," said the 
 Spaniard ; " the time for a cup of coffee, and I am 
 ready to ride all night." 
 
 Having eaten, Concepcion was in a better frame 
 of mind, and now cheerfully undertook to carry 
 out his master's instructions. In little more than 
 half an hour he was in the saddle again, and waved 
 an airy adieu to Conyngham as he passed under 
 the swinging oil-lamps that hung at the corner of 
 the street. 
 
 It was yet early in the evening, and Conyng- 
 ham, having dined, set out to explore the streets 
 of Xeres, which were quiet enough now, as the 
 cafes were gayer and safer than the gloomy thor- 
 oughfares, where a foe might be in every doorway. 
 In the market-place, between rows of booths and 
 tents, a dense crowd walked backward and for- 
 ward, with that steady sense of promenading which 
 the Spaniard understands above all other men. 
 The dealers in coloured handkerchiefs from Bar- 
 celona or mantillas from Seville were driving a 
 great trade, and the majority of them had long 
 since shouted themselves hoarse. A few quack 
 dentists were operating upon their victims under 
 the friendly covert of a big drum and a bassoon. 
 Dealers in wonderful drugs and herbs were ha- 
 ranguing the crowd, easily gaining the attention of
 
 ii2 IN KEDAR'S TENTS 
 
 the simple peasants by handling a live snake or a 
 crocodile, which they allowed to crawl upon their 
 shoulders. 
 
 Conyngham mingled in the crowd, which was 
 orderly enough, and amused himself by noting the 
 credulity of the country folk, until his attention 
 was attracted by a solemn procession passing up 
 the market-place behind the tents. He inquired of 
 a bystander what this might be. 
 
 " It is the police carrying to his appartement the 
 body of Colonel Monreal, who was murdered this 
 afternoon in the Plaza Mayor," was the answer. 
 
 Conyngham made his way between two tents to 
 the deserted side of the market-place, and running 
 past the procession, reached the barber's shop be- 
 fore it. In answer to his summons a girl came to 
 the door of the colonel's appartement. She was 
 weeping and moaning in great mental distress. 
 
 Without explanation Conyngham pushed past 
 her into the room where he had deposited the let- 
 ter. The room was in disorder, and no letter lay 
 upon the table. 
 
 " It is," sobbed the girl, " my husband, who, 
 having heard that the good colonel had been mur- 
 dered, stole all his valuables and papers, and has 
 run away from me."
 
 CHAPTER XI 
 
 A TANGLED WEB 
 
 " Wherein I am false, I am honest ; not true to be 
 true." 
 
 " And would you believe it, there are soldiers in 
 the house, at the very door of Julia's apartments." 
 Senora Barenna, who made this remark, heaved a 
 sigh and sat back in her cane-work chair with that 
 jerkiness of action which in elderly ladies usually 
 betokens impatience with the ways of young people. 
 
 " Policemen — policemen, not soldiers," cor- 
 rected Father Concha, patiently, as if it did not 
 matter much. They were sitting in the broad, 
 vine-clad veranda of the Casa Barenna, that grim 
 old house on the Bobadilla road, two miles from 
 Ronda. The priest had walked thither, as the 
 dust on his square-toed shoes and black stockings 
 would testify. He had laid aside his mournful old 
 hat, long since brown and discoloured, and was 
 wiping his forehead with a cheap pocket-handker- 
 chief of colour and pattern rather loud for his sta- 
 tion in life. 
 
 " Well, they have swords," persisted the lady. 
 
 " Policemen," said Father Concha, in a stern and 
 final voice, which caused Senora Barenna to 
 
 8
 
 ii4 IN KEDAR'S TENTS 
 
 cast her eyes upward with an air of resigned 
 martyrdom. 
 
 " Ah, that alcalde ! " she whispered between her 
 teeth. 
 
 " A little dog when it is afraid growls," said 
 Concha, philosophically. " The alcalde is a very 
 small dog, and he is at his wits' end. Such a 
 thing has not occurred in Ronda before, and the 
 alcalde's world is Ronda. He does not know 
 whether his office permits him to inspect young 
 ladies' love-letters or not." 
 
 " Love-letters ! " ejaculated Seiiora Barenna. 
 She evidently had a keen sense of the romantic, 
 and hoped for something more tragic than a mere 
 flirtation begotten of idleness at sea. 
 
 " Yes," said Concha, crossing his legs and look- 
 ing at his companion with a queer cynicism ; 
 "young people mostly pass that way." 
 
 He had had a tragedy, this old man, one of those 
 grim tragedies of the cassock which English people 
 rarely understand. And his tragedy sat beside him 
 on the cane chair, stout and eminently worldly, 
 while he had journeyed on the road of life with all 
 his illusions, all his half-fledged aspirations un- 
 touched by the cold finger of reality. He despised 
 the woman now. The contempt lurked in his 
 cynical smile, but he clung with a half-mocking, 
 open-eyed sarcasm to his memories. 
 
 " But," he said reassuringly, " Julia is a match 
 for the alcalde, you may rest assured of that."
 
 A TANGLED WEB 115 
 
 Senora Barenna turned with a gesture of her 
 plump hands indicative of bewilderment. 
 
 " I do not understand her. She laughs at the 
 soldiers — the policemen, I mean. She laughs 
 at me. She laughs at everything." 
 
 " Yes ; it is the hollow hearts that make most 
 noise in the world," said Concha, folding his 
 handkerchief upon his knee. He was deadly poor, 
 and had a theory that a folded handkerchief re- 
 mains longer clean. His whole existence was an 
 effort to do without those things that make life 
 worth having. 
 
 " Why did you send for me ? " he asked. 
 
 " But to advise me, to help me. I have been 
 all my life cast upon the world alone — no one to 
 help me, no one to understand. No one knows 
 what I have suffered. . . . My husband — " 
 
 " Was one of the best and most patient of 
 mortals, and is assuredly in heaven, where, I 
 hope, there are a few mansions reserved for men 
 only." 
 
 Senora Barenna fetched one of her deepest 
 sighs. She had a few lurking at the depths of her 
 capacious being reserved for such occasions as this. 
 It was, it seemed, no more than her life had led 
 her to expect. 
 
 " You have had," went on her spiritual adviser, 
 " a life of ease and luxury, a husband who denied 
 you nothing. You have never lost a child by 
 death, which, I understand, is . . . one of the
 
 n6 IN KEDAR'S TENTS 
 
 greatest sorrows that God sends to women. You 
 are an ungrateful female." 
 
 Sefiora Barenna, whose face would have graced 
 one of the very earliest of the martyrs, sat with 
 folded hands waiting until the storm should pass. 
 
 " Do you wish me to see Julia ? " asked Concha, 
 abruptly. 
 
 " Yes, yes ; and persuade her to conciliate the 
 alcalde, to tell him some story or another. It does 
 not surely matter if it be not the strict truth — 
 anything to get these men out of the house. My 
 maid, Maria, is so flighty ! Ah, those young 
 people ! What a trial, my dear padre — what a 
 trial ! " 
 
 " Of course," said Father Concha ; " but what 
 a dull world it would be if our neighbour knew 
 how to manage his own affairs. Shall we go to 
 Julia ? " 
 
 The perturbed lady preferred that the priest 
 should see her daughter alone. A military-looking 
 individual in white trousers and a dark-green tunic 
 stood guard over the door of Julia's apartment, 
 seeking by his attitude and the curl of his mous- 
 tache to magnify his office in the eyes of a maid 
 who happened to have an unusual amount of clean- 
 ing to do in that particular corridor. 
 
 " Ah ! " said Father Concha, by no means 
 abashed by the sentinel's sword — " ah, it is you, 
 Manuel. Your wife tells me you have objections 
 to the christening of that last boy of yours — No.
 
 A TANGLED WEB 117 
 
 5 I think. Bring No. 5 on Sunday, after vespers — 
 eh ? You understand, and a little something for 
 the poor. It is pay-day on Saturday. And no 
 more nonsense about religion. Manuel — eh ? " 
 
 He shook his lean finger in the official's face 
 and walked on unchallenged. 
 
 " May I come in ? " he said, tapping at the door, 
 and Julia's voice bade him enter. 
 
 He closed the door behind him and laid aside 
 his hat. Then he stood upright, and slowly rub- 
 bing his hands together, looked at Julia with the 
 humorous twinkle in his eye and its companion 
 dimple twitching in his lean cheek. Then he be- 
 gan to feel his pockets, passing his hands down his 
 worn cassock. 
 
 " Let me see, I had a love-letter. . . . Was 
 it from Don Carlos ? At all events, I have lost 
 it!" 
 
 He laughed, made a perfunctory sign of the 
 cross, and gave her his blessing. Then, his face 
 having become suddenly grave, as if by machinery, 
 at the sound of the solemn Latin benediction, he 
 sat down. 
 
 Julia looked worn and eager. Her eyes seemed 
 to search his face for news. 
 
 « Yes, my dear child," he said, " politics are all 
 very well as a career, but without a distinct profit 
 they are worth the attention of few men, and 
 never the attention of a woman." 
 
 He looked at her keenly, and she turned to the
 
 u8 IN KEDAR'S TENTS 
 
 window, which was open to admit the breath 
 of violets and other flowers of the spring. She 
 shrugged her shoulders and gave a sharp sigh. 
 
 " See here, my child," said Padre Concha, 
 abruptly, " for reasons which concern no one I 
 take a great interest in your happiness ; you resem- 
 ble some one whose welfare was once more impor- 
 tant to me than my own. That was long ago, and 
 I now consider myself first, as all wise men should. 
 I am your friend, Julia, and much too old to be over- 
 scrupulous. I peep and pry into my neighbour's 
 affairs, and I am uneasy about you, my child." 
 
 He shook his head and drummed upon the table 
 with his dirty fingers. 
 
 " Thank you," answered the girl, with her de- 
 fiant little laugh ; " but I can manage my own 
 affairs." 
 
 The priest nodded reflectively. 
 
 " Yes," he said ; " it is natural that you should 
 say that. One of the chief blessings of youth 
 is self-confidence. Heaven forbid that I should 
 shake yours. But, you see, there are several peo- 
 ple who happen to be anxious that this little affair 
 should blow over and be forgotten. The alcalde 
 is a mule, we know that; and anything that serves 
 to magnify himself and his office is likely to be 
 prolonged. Do not play into his hand. On the 
 other side, there are some who wish to forget this 
 incident, and one of them is coming to see you 
 this afternoon."
 
 A TANGLED WEB 119 
 
 " Ah ! " said the girl, indifferently. 
 
 " General Vincente." 
 
 Julia changed colour, and her eyelids flickered for 
 a moment as she looked out of the open window. 
 
 " A good friend," continued Concha, " but . . ." 
 
 He finished the phrase with an eloquent little 
 gesture of the hand. At this moment they both 
 heard the sound of an approaching carriage. 
 
 " He is coming now," said Concha ; " he is 
 driving, so Estella is with him." 
 
 " Estella is, of course, jealous." 
 
 The priest looked at her with a slow, wise 
 smile, and said nothing. 
 
 " She — " began Julia, and then closed her lips — 
 true to that " esprit de sexe " which has ruled 
 through all the ages. Then Julia Barenna gave a 
 sharp sigh as her mind reverted from Estella's 
 affairs to her own. 
 
 Sitting thus in silence, the two occupants of the 
 quiet room heard the approach of steps and the 
 clink of spurs in the corridor. 
 
 " It is the reverendo who visits the senorita," 
 they heard the voice of the sentinel explain depre- 
 catingly. 
 
 The priest rose and went to the door, which he 
 opened. 
 
 " Only as a friend," he said. " Come in, general." 
 
 General Vincente entered the room, followed 
 by Estella. He nodded to Concha and kissed his 
 niece affectionately.
 
 120 IN KEDAR'S TENTS 
 
 " Still obdurate ? " he said, with a semi-playful tap 
 on her shoulder. " Still obdurate ? My dear Julia, 
 in peace and war the greatest quality in the strong 
 is mercy. You have proved yourself strong — you 
 have worsted that unfortunate alcalde — be merci- 
 ful to him now, and let this incident finish." 
 
 He drew forward a chair, the others being 
 seated, and laid aside his gloves. The sword 
 which he held upright between his knees, with his 
 two hands resting on the hilt, looked incongruously 
 large and reached the level of his eyes. He gave 
 a little chuckling laugh. 
 
 " I saw him last night at the Cafe Real. The 
 poor man had the air of a funeral, and took his 
 wine as if it were sour. Ah ! these civilians, they 
 amuse one ; they take life so seriously." 
 
 He laughed and looked round on those assembled, 
 as if inviting them to join him in a gayer and 
 easier view of existence. The padre's furrowed 
 face answered the summons in a sudden smile, but 
 it was with grave eyes that he looked searchingly 
 at the most powerful man in Andalusia, for Gen- 
 eral Vincente's word was law south of the 
 Tagus. 
 
 The two men sat side by side in strong contrast. 
 Fate, indeed, seems to shake men together in a bag 
 and cast them out upon the world, heedless where 
 they may fall ; for here was a soldier in the priest's 
 habit, and one carrying a sword who had the keen 
 heart and sure sympathy for joy or sorrow that
 
 A TANGLED WEB 121 
 
 should ever be found within a black coat if the 
 Master's work is to be well done. 
 
 General Vincente smiled at Estella with sang 
 froid and an unruffled good-nature, while the 
 Padre Concha, whose place it surely was to take 
 the lead in such woman's work as this, slowly 
 rubbed his bony hands together at a loss and in- 
 competent to meet the urgency of the moment. 
 
 " Our guest left us yesterday morning," said the 
 general, " and of course the alcalde placed no 
 hindrance on his departure." 
 
 He did not look at Julia, who drew a deep 
 breath and glanced at Estella. 
 
 " I do not know if Senor Conyngham left any 
 message for you with Estella, to me he said 
 nothing," continued Estella's father; and that 
 young lady shook her head. 
 
 " No," she put in composedly. 
 
 " Then it remains for us to close this foolish 
 incident, my dear Julia, and for me to remind you, 
 seeing you are fatherless, that there are in Spain 
 many adventurers who come here seeking the sport 
 of love or war, who will ride away when they 
 have had their fill of either." 
 
 He ceased speaking with a tolerant laugh, as one 
 who, being a soldier himself, would beg indulgence 
 for the failings of his comrades, examined the hilt 
 of his sword, and then looked blandly round on 
 three faces which refused to class the absent Eng- 
 lishman in this category.
 
 122 IN KEDAR'S TENTS 
 
 a 
 
 It remains, my dear niece, to satisfy the 
 alcalde, a mere glance at the letter . . . sufficient 
 to satisfy him as to the nature of its contents." 
 
 " I have no letter," said Julia, quietly, with her 
 level red lips set firmly. 
 
 " Not in your possession, but perhaps concealed 
 in some place at hand, unless it is destroyed." 
 
 " I have destroyed no letter, I have concealed no 
 letter, and I have no letter," said the girl, quietly. 
 
 Estella moved uneasily in her chair. Her face 
 was colourless and her eyes shone. She watched 
 her cousin's face intently, and beneath his shaggy 
 brows the old priest's eyes went from one fair 
 countenance to the other. 
 
 " Then," cried the general, rising to his feet 
 with an air of relief, " you have but to assure the 
 alcalde of this, and the whole incident is termi- 
 nated — blown over, my dear Concha — blown 
 
 over." 
 
 He tapped the priest on the shoulder with great 
 good-nature. Indeed, the world seemed sunny 
 enough and free from cares when General Vincente 
 had to deal with it. 
 
 " Yes, yes," said the padre, snuff-box in hand ; 
 " blown over, of course." 
 
 " Then I may send the alcalde to you, Julia, and 
 you will tell him what you have told us. He can- 
 not but take the word of a lady." 
 
 " Yes, if you like," answered Julia. 
 
 The general's joy knew no bounds.
 
 A TANGLED WEB 123 
 
 " That is well," he cried. " I knew we could 
 rely upon your good sense. Kiss me, Julia ; that 
 is well. Come, Estella, we must not keep the 
 horses waiting." 
 
 With a laugh and a nod he went toward the 
 door. 
 
 " Blown over, my dear Concha," he said, over 
 his shoulder. 
 
 A few minutes later the priest walked down the 
 avenue of walnut-trees alone. The bell was ring- 
 ing for vespers, but the padre was an autocratic 
 shepherd, and did not hurry toward his flock. 
 The sun had set, and in the hollows of the distant 
 mountains the shades of night already lay like a 
 blue veil. 
 
 The priest walked on and presently reached the 
 high road. 
 
 A single figure was upon it, the figure of a man 
 sitting in the shadow of an ilex-tree, half a mile up 
 the road toward Bobadilla. The man crouched 
 low against a heap of stones, and had the air of a 
 wanderer. His face was concealed in the folds of 
 his cloak. 
 
 " Blown over," muttered the padre, as he turned 
 his back upon Bobadilla and went on toward his 
 church — " blown over, of course, but what is Con- 
 cepcion Vara doing in the neighbourhood of Ronda 
 to-night ? "
 
 CHAPTER XII 
 
 ON THE TOLEDO ROAD 
 
 "Une bonne intention est une echelle trop courte." 
 
 Conyngham made his way without difficulty 01 
 incident from Xeres to Cordova, riding for the 
 most part in front of the clumsy diligencia, wherein 
 he had bestowed his luggage. The road was 
 wearisome enough, and the last stages, through the 
 fertile plains bordering the Guadalquivir, dusty and 
 monotonous. 
 
 At Cordova the traveller found comfortable 
 quarters in an old inn overlooking the river. The 
 ancient city was then, as it is now, a great military 
 centre, and the headquarters of the picturesque 
 corps of horse-tamers, the Remonta, who are respon- 
 sible for the mounting of a cavalry and the artillery 
 of Spain. Conyngham had, at the suggestion of 
 General Vincente, made such small changes in his 
 costume as would serve to allay curiosity and pre- 
 vent that gossip of the stable and kitchen which 
 may follow a traveller to his hurt from one side of 
 a continent to the other. 
 
 " Wherever you may go, learn your way in and 
 out of every town, and you will thus store up
 
 ON THE TOLEDO ROAD 125 
 
 knowledge most useful to a soldier," the general 
 had said in his easy way. 
 
 " See you," Concepcion had observed, wagging 
 his head over a cigarette, " to go about the world 
 with the eyes open is to conquer the world." 
 
 From his guide, moreover, whose methods were 
 those that nature teaches to men who live their 
 daily lives in her company, Conyngham learnt 
 much of that road-craft which had raised Concep- 
 cion Vara to such a proud eminence among the 
 rascals of Andalusia. Cordova was a good object 
 upon which to practise, for Roman and Goth, 
 Moor and Christian have combined to make its 
 tortuous streets well-nigh incomprehensible to the 
 traveller's mind. 
 
 Here Conyngham wandered, or else he sat 
 somnolently on a seat in the Paseo del Gran Cap- 
 itan, in the shade of the orange-trees, awaiting 
 the arrival of Concepcion Vara. He made a few 
 acquaintances, as every traveller who is not a bear 
 must needs do in a country where politeness and 
 hospitality and a grave good fellowship are the 
 natural habit of high and low alike. A bull-fighter 
 or two, who beguiled the long winter months when 
 the rings are closed by a little innocent horse- 
 dealing, joined him quietly in the streets, and 
 offered him a horse, as between gentlemen of un- 
 doubted honour, at a price much below the current 
 value. Or it was, perhaps, a beggar who came to 
 him on the old yellow marble seat under the orange-
 
 i 2 6 IN KEDAR'S TENTS 
 
 trees, and chatted affably about his business as 
 being bad in these times of war. Once, indeed, 
 it was a white-haired gentleman who spoke in Eng- 
 lish, and asked some very natural questions as to 
 the affairs that brought an Englishman to the town 
 of Cordova. This sweet-spoken old man explained 
 that strangers would do well to avoid all questions 
 of politics and religion, which he classed together 
 in one dangerous whole. Nevertheless, Conyng- 
 ham thought that he perceived his ancient friend 
 the same evening hurrying up the steps of the 
 Jesuit College of La Campania. 
 
 Two days elapsed and Concepcion Vara made 
 neither appearance nor sign. On the second even- 
 ing Conyngham decided to go on alone, prosecuting 
 his journey through the sparsely populated valley of 
 the Alcadia to Ciudad Real, Toledo, and Madrid. 
 
 " You will ride," the innkeeper told him, " from 
 the Guadalquivir to the Guadiana, and if there is 
 rain you may be a month upon the road." 
 
 Conyngham set out in the early morning, and as 
 he threw his leg across the saddle the sun rose over 
 the far misty hills of Ronda, and Concepcion Vara 
 awoke from his night's rest under the wall of an 
 olive terrace above the Bobadilla road, to begin 
 another day of patient waiting and watching to get 
 speech with the maid or the mistress, for he had 
 already inaugurated what he lightly called " an 
 affair " with Julia's flighty attendant. The sun 
 rose also over the plains of Xeres, and lighted up
 
 ON THE TOLEDO ROAD 127 
 
 the picturesque form of Esteban Larralde, in the 
 saddle this hour and more, having learnt that Col- 
 onel Monreal's death took place an hour before 
 Conyngham's arrival in the town of Xeres de la 
 Frontera. The letter, therefore, had not been 
 delivered to Colonel Monreal, and was still in 
 Conyngham's possession. 
 
 Larralde bestrode a shocking steed, and had but 
 an indifferent seat in the saddle, but the dust rose 
 beneath his horse's feet, and his spurs flashed in the 
 sunlight as this man of many parts hurried on 
 toward Utera and Cordova. 
 
 In the old Moorish palace in Ronda, General 
 Vincente, summoned to a great council of war at 
 Madrid, was making curt military preparations for 
 his journey and the conveyance of his household 
 to the capital. Senora Barenna was for the mo- 
 ment forgetful of her nerves in the excitement of 
 despatching servants in advance to Toledo, where 
 she owned a summer residence. Julia was nervously 
 anxious to be on the road again, and showed by 
 every word and action that restlessness of spirit 
 which is the inheritance of hungry hearts. Estella, 
 quiet and self-contained, attended to the details of 
 moving a vast and formal household with a certain 
 eagerness, which in no way resembled Julia's fever- 
 ish haste. Estella seemed to be one of those happy 
 people who know what they want. 
 
 Thus Frederick Conyngham, riding Northward 
 alone, seemed to be but a pilot to all those persons,
 
 128 IN KEDAR'S TENTS 
 
 into whose lives he had suddenly stepped as from a 
 side issue, for they were one and all making ready 
 to follow him to the colder plains of Castile, where 
 existence was full of strife and ambition, of war 
 and those inner wheels that ever jar and grind 
 where politicians contend together for the mastery 
 of a moment. 
 
 As he rode on, Conynham left a message from 
 time to time for his self-appointed servant. At the 
 offices of the diligencias in various towns on the 
 great road from Cordova to Madrid he left word 
 for Concepcion Vara to follow, should the spirit 
 of travel be still upon him, knowing that at these 
 places, where travellers were ever passing, the tittle- 
 tattle of the road was on the tongue of every hostler 
 and stable help. And truly enough there followed 
 one who made careful inquiries as to the move- 
 ments of the Englishman, and heard his messages 
 with a grim smile ; but this was not Concepcion 
 Vara. 
 
 It was late one evening when Conyngham, who 
 had quitted Toledo in the morning, began to hunger 
 for the sight of the towers and steeples of Madrid. 
 He had ridden all day through the bare country of 
 Cervantes, where to this day Spain rears her wit- 
 tiest men and plainest women. The sun had just 
 set behind the distant hills of old Castile, and from 
 the east, over Aranjuez, where the great river cuts 
 Spain in two parts, from its centre to the sea, a 
 gray cloud — a very shade of night — was slowlv
 
 ON THE TOLEDO ROAD 129 
 
 rising. The aspect of the brown plains was dis- 
 mal, and on the horizon the rolling, unbroken land 
 seemed to melt away into eternity and infinite 
 space. 
 
 Conyngham reined in and looked around him. 
 So far as eye could reach no house arose to testify 
 to the presence of man. No labourer toiled home 
 to his lonely hut, for in this country of many wars 
 and interminable strife it has, since the days of 
 Nebuchadnezzar, been the custom of the people to 
 congregate in villages and small townships, where 
 a common danger secured some protection against 
 a lawless foe. The road rose and fell in a straight 
 line across the tableland without tree or hedge, 
 and Madrid seemed to belong to another world, 
 for the horizon, which was distant enough, bore 
 no sign of cathedral spire or castled height. 
 
 Conyngham turned in his saddle to look back, 
 and there, not a mile away, the form of a hurrying 
 horseman broke the bare line of the dusty road. 
 There was something weird and disturbing in this 
 figure, a suggestion of pursuit in every line, for 
 this was not Concepcion Vara. Conyngham 
 would have known him at once. This was one 
 wearing a better coat ; indeed, Concepcion pre- 
 ferred to face life and the chances of the road in 
 shirt-sleeves. 
 
 Conyngham sat in his saddle awaiting the new- 
 comer. To meet on such a road in Spain with- 
 out pausing to exchange a salutation would be a 
 
 9
 
 3° 
 
 IN KEDAR'S TENTS 
 
 gratuitous insult ; to ride in solitude within hail of 
 another traveller were to excite or betray the deep- 
 est distrust. It was characteristic of Conyngham 
 that he already waved his hand in salutation, and 
 was prepared to hail the newcomer as the jolliest 
 companion in the world. 
 
 Esteban Larralde, seeing the salutation, gave a 
 short laugh, and jerked the reins of his tired horse. 
 He himself wore a weary look, as if the flight he 
 had in hand were an uphill one. He had long 
 recognised Conyngham ; indeed, the chase had 
 been one of little excitement, but rather an exer- 
 cise of patience and dogged perseverance. He 
 raised his hat to indicate that the Englishman's 
 gay salutations were perceived, and pulled the wide 
 brim well forward again. 
 
 " He will change his attitude when it becomes 
 apparent who I am," he muttered. 
 
 But Conyngham's first word would appear to 
 suggest that Esteban Larralde was a much less 
 impressive person than he considered himself. 
 
 " Why, it 's the devout lover ! " he cried. 
 " Senor Larralde, you remember me — Algeciras 
 — and your pink love-letter. Deuced fishy love- 
 letter that. Nearly got me into a devil of a row, 
 I can tell you. How are you — eh ? " 
 
 And the Englishman rode forward with a jolly 
 laugh and his hand held out. Larralde took it 
 without enthusiasm. It was rather difficult to 
 pick a picturesque quarrel with such a person as
 
 ON THE TOLEDO ROAD 131 
 
 this. Moreover, the true conspirator never be- 
 lieves in another man's honesty. 
 
 " Who would have expected to meet you 
 here ? " went on Conyngham, jovially. 
 
 " It is not so surprising as you think." 
 
 « Ah ! " 
 
 There was no mistaking Larralde's manner, and 
 the Englishman's gay, blue eyes hardened suddenly 
 and rather surprisingly. 
 
 " No ; I have followed you. I want that 
 letter." 
 
 " Well, as it happens, Senor Larralde, I have 
 not got your letter, and if I had I am not quite 
 sure that I would give it to you. Your conduct 
 in the matter has not been over-nice ; and to tell 
 the truth, 1 don't think much of a man who gets 
 strangers and women to do his dirty work for 
 him." 
 
 Larralde stroked his moustache with a half- 
 furtive air of contempt. 
 
 " I should have given the confounded letter to 
 the alcalde of Ronda if it had not been that a lady 
 would have suffered for it, and let you take your 
 chance, Senor Larralde." 
 
 Larralde shrugged his shoulders. 
 
 " You would not have given it to the alcalde of 
 Ronda," he said in a sneering voice, " because you 
 want it yourself. You require it in order to make 
 your peace with Estella Vincente." 
 
 "We are not going to talk of Senorita Yin-
 
 I 3 2 
 
 IN KEDAR'S TENTS 
 
 cente," said Conyngham, quietly. " You say you 
 followed me because you wanted that letter. It is 
 not in my possession. I left it in the house of 
 Colonel Monreal at Xeres. If you are going 
 on to Madrid, I think I will sit down here and 
 have a cigarette. If, on the other hand, you pro- 
 pose resting here, I shall proceed, as it is getting 
 late." 
 
 Conyngham looked at his companion with a 
 nod and a smile, which was not in the least 
 friendly and at the same time quite cheerful. He 
 seemed to recognise the necessity of quarrelling, 
 but proposed to do so as light-heartedly as possible. 
 They were both on horseback in the middle of the 
 road, Larralde a few paces in the direction of 
 Madrid. 
 
 Conyngham indicated the road with an inviting 
 wave of the hand. 
 
 " Will you go on ? " he asked. 
 
 Larralde sat looking at him with glittering eyes 
 and said nothing. 
 
 " Then I will continue my journey," said the 
 Englishman, touching his horse lightly with the 
 spur. The horse moved on and passed within a 
 yard of the other. At this moment Larralde rose 
 in his stirrups and flung himself on one side. 
 
 Conyngham gave a sharp cry of pain and threw 
 back his head. Larralde had stabbed him in the 
 back. 
 
 The Englishman swayed in the saddle, as if
 
 ON THE TOLEDO ROAD 133 
 
 trying to balance himself ; his legs bent back from 
 the knee in the sharpness of a biting pain. The 
 heavy stirrups swung free. Then, slowly, Conyng- 
 ham toppled forward and rolled out of the saddle, 
 falling on to the road with a thud. 
 
 Larralde watched him with a white face and 
 staring eyes. Then he looked quickly round over 
 the darkening landscape. There was no one in 
 sight. This was one of the waste places of the 
 world. Larralde seemed to remember the Eye 
 that seeth even there, and crossed himself as he 
 slipped from the saddle to the ground. He was 
 shaking all over. His face was ashen, for it is a 
 terrible thing to kill a man and be left alone with 
 him. 
 
 Conyngham's eyes were closed. There was 
 blood on his lips. With hands that shook like 
 leaves Esteban Larralde searched the Englishman, 
 found nothing, and cursed his ill-fortune. Then 
 he stood upright, and in the dim light his face 
 shone as if he had dipped it in water. He crept 
 into the saddle, and rode on toward Madrid. 
 
 It was quite dark when Conyngham recovered 
 consciousness. In turning him over to search his 
 pockets Larralde had perhaps, unwittingly, saved 
 his life by placing him in a position that checked 
 the internal hemorrhage. What served to bring 
 back the Englishman's wandering senses was the 
 rumbling of heavy wheels and the crack of a great 
 whip, as a cart laden with hay and drawn by six
 
 134 IN KEDAR'S TENTS 
 
 mules approached him from the direction of 
 Toledo. 
 
 The driver of the team was an old soldier, as 
 indeed were most of the Castilians at this time, 
 and knew how to handle wounded men. With 
 great care and a multitude of oaths he lifted 
 Conyngham on to his cart and proceeded with him 
 to Madrid.
 
 CHAPTER XIII 
 
 A WISE IGNORAMUS 
 
 '« God help me! I know nothing — can but pray." 
 
 It was Father Concha's custom to attend, at his 
 ■church, between the hours of nine and ten in the 
 morning, to such wants, spiritual or temporal, as 
 individual members of his flock chose to bring to 
 him. 
 
 Thus it usually happened that the faithful found 
 the old priest at nine o'clock sunning himself at 
 the front door of the sacred edifice, smoking a 
 reflective cigarette, and exchanging the time of day 
 with passers-by or such as had leisure to pause a 
 moment. 
 
 " Whether it is body or soul that is in trouble, 
 come to me," he would say ; " for the body I can 
 do a little — a very little. I have twenty pounds 
 a year, and it is not always paid to me, but I some- 
 times have a trifle for charity. For the soul I can 
 do a little more." 
 
 After a storm of wind and rain, such as come 
 in the winter time, it was no uncommon sight to 
 see the priest sweeping the leaves and dust from
 
 136 IN KEDAR'S TENTS 
 
 the church steps, and using the strongest language 
 at the bootmaker over the way, whose business 
 this was supposed to be. 
 
 " See," he would cry to some passer-by — " see, 
 it is thus that our sacristan does his work. It is 
 for this that the Holy Church pays him fifteen — 
 or is it twenty ? — pesetas per annum." 
 
 And the bootmaker would growl and shake his 
 head over his last, for, like most who have to do 
 with leather, he was a man of small humour. 
 
 Here, too, mothers would bring their children 
 — little girls cowering under their bright handker- 
 chiefs, the mantillas of the poor — and speak with 
 the padre of the Confirmation and first Commun- 
 ion, which had lately begun to hang like a cloud 
 over the child's life. Father Concha would take 
 the child upon his knee as he sat on the low wall 
 at the side of the steps, and when the mother had 
 left them would talk quietly, with the lines of his 
 face wonderfully softened, so that before long the 
 little girl would run home quite happy in mind, 
 and no longer afraid of the great Unknown. Here, 
 in the springtime, came the young men with 
 thoughts appropriate to the season, and sheepish 
 exceedingly, for they knew that Father Concha 
 knew all about them, and would take an unfair 
 advantage of his opportunities, refusing probably 
 to perform the ceremony until he was satisfied as 
 to the ways and means and prudence of the con- 
 tracting parties, which, of course, he had no right
 
 A WISE IGNORAMUS 137 
 
 to do. Here came the halt, the lame, the blind, 
 the poor, and also the rich. Here came the un- 
 happy. They came naturally and often. Here, 
 so the bootmaker tells, came one morning a ruined 
 man who, after speaking a few words to the padre, 
 produced a revolver and tried to shoot himself, and 
 the padre fell on him like a wild beast. And they 
 fought together, and fell and rolled down the steps 
 together into the road, where they still fought till 
 they were white like millers with dust. Then at 
 last the padre got the strong man under him, and 
 took the revolver away and threw it into the ditch. 
 Then he fell to belabouring the would-be suicide 
 with his fists until the big man cried for mercy 
 and received it not. 
 
 " You saved his life," the people said. 
 
 11 It was his soul that I was caring for," replied 
 the padre, with his grim smile. 
 
 Concha was not a clever man, but he was wise. 
 Of learning he had but little. It is easy, however, 
 to be wise without being learned. It is easier still 
 to be learned without being wise. The world is 
 full of such persons to-day, when education is too 
 cheap. Concha steered his flock as best he could 
 through the stormy paths of insurrection and civil 
 war. He ruled with a rod of iron whom he could, 
 and such as were beyond his reach he influenced 
 by ridicule and a patient tolerance. True to his 
 cloth, he was the enemy of all progress and dis- 
 trusted every innovation.
 
 j 3 8 IN KEDAR'S TENTS 
 
 " The padre," said the barber, who was a talker 
 and a radical, " would have the world stand still." 
 
 " The padre," replied Concha, who was ten- 
 derly drying his chin with a towel, " would have 
 all barbers attend to their razors. Many are so 
 busy shouting c Advance ! ' that they have no 
 breath to ask whither they are going." 
 
 On the whole, perhaps his autocratic rule was 
 a beneficent one, and contributed to the happi- 
 ness of the little Northern suburb of Ronda over 
 which it extended. At all events, he was a watch- 
 ful guardian of his flock, and knew every face in 
 his parish. 
 
 It thus happened one morning that a strange 
 woman, who had come quietly into church to pray, 
 attracted his attention as he passed out after matins. 
 She was a mere peasant and ill-clad. The child 
 seated on a chair by her side, and staring with 
 wondering eyes at the simple altar and stained- 
 glass windows, had a hungry look. 
 
 Concha sat down on the low wall without the 
 doors, and awaited the exit of this devotee, who 
 was not of his flock ; for though, as he often said, 
 the good God had intended him for a soldier, his 
 own strong will and simple faith had in time pro- 
 duced a very passable priest, who with a grim face 
 went about doing good. 
 
 The woman presently lifted the heavy leathern 
 curtain, and let out into the sunlight a breath of 
 cool, incense-laden air.
 
 A WISE IGNORAMUS 139 
 
 She curtsied and paused, as if expecting recog- 
 nition. Concha threw away his cigarette and 
 raised his hand to his hat. He had not lifted it, 
 except to ladies of the highest quality, for some 
 years, out of regard to symptoms of senile decay 
 which had manifested themselves at the junction 
 of the brim and the crown. 
 
 " Have I not seen your face before, my child ? " 
 he said. 
 
 " Yes, reverendo ; I am of Ronda, but have 
 been living in Xeres." 
 
 " Ah ! Then your husband is, no doubt, a 
 malcontent." 
 
 The woman burst into tears, burying her face 
 in her hands, and leaning against the wall in an 
 attitude that was still girlish. She had probably 
 been married at fifteen. 
 
 " No, reverendo ; he is a thief ! " 
 
 Concha merely nodded his head. He never 
 had been a man to betray much pious horror when 
 he heard of ill-doing. 
 
 " The two are almost identical," he said 
 quietly. " One does what the other fears to do. 
 And is your husband in prison ? Is that why you 
 have come back ? Ah, you women, in foolishness 
 you almost equal the men ! " 
 
 " No, reverendo ; 1 am come back because he 
 has left me. Sebastian has run away, and has 
 stolen all his master's property. It was the Colonel 
 Monreal, of Xeres ; a good man, reverendo, but a 
 oolitician."
 
 i40 IN KEDAR'S TENTS 
 
 « Ah ! " 
 
 " Yes ; and he was murdered, as your reverence 
 has no doubt seen in the newspapers. A week 
 ago it was, the day that the Englishman came with 
 a letter." 
 
 " What Englishman was that ? " inquired 
 Father Concha, brushing some grains of snuff 
 from his sleeve — "what Englishman was that, 
 my child ? " 
 
 " Oh, I do not know ! His name is unknown 
 to me, but I could tell he was English from his 
 manner of speaking. The colonel had an English 
 friend who spoke so, one engaged in the sherry in 
 Xeres." 
 
 tf - Ah, yes ! And this Englishman, what was he 
 like?" 
 
 " He was very tall and straight, like a soldier, 
 and had a moustache quite light in colour, like 
 straw." 
 
 " Ah, yes ! The English are so. And he left 
 a letter ? " 
 
 " Yes, reverendo." 
 
 " A rose-coloured letter . . . ? " 
 
 " Yes," said the woman, looking at him with 
 surprise. 
 
 " And tell me what happened afterward. I 
 may perhaps be able to help you, my child, if you 
 tell me all you know." 
 
 " And then, reverendo, the police brought back 
 the colonel, who had been murdered in the streets ;
 
 A WISE IGNORAMUS 141 
 
 and I who had his excellency's dinner on the table 
 waiting for him ? " 
 
 "And . . ." 
 
 " And Sebastian ate the dinner, reverendo." 
 
 " Your husband appears to be a man of action," 
 said Concha, with a queer smile. " And then . . ." 
 
 " Sebastian sent me on a message to the town, 
 and when I came back he was gone, and all his 
 excellency's possessions were gone — his papers 
 and valuables." 
 
 " Including the htter which the Englishman had 
 left for the colonel ? " 
 
 " Yes, reverendo ; Sebastian knew that in these 
 times the papers of a politician may perhaps be 
 sold for money." 
 
 Concha nodded his head reflectively, and took a 
 pinch of snuff with infinite deliberation and enjoy- 
 ment. 
 
 " Yes ; assuredly Sebastian is one of those men 
 who get on in the world, ... up to a certain 
 point, . . . and at that point they get hanged. 
 There is in the universe a particular spot for each 
 man, where we all think we should like to go if 
 we had the money. For me it is Rome. Doubt- 
 less Sebastian had some such spot of which he 
 spoke when he was intoxicated. Where is Sebas- 
 tian's earthly paradise, think you, my child ? ' : 
 
 " He always spoke of Madrid, reverendo." 
 
 " Yes, . . . yes, I can imagine he would." 
 
 " And I have no money to follow him, ..."
 
 142 IN KEDAR'S TENTS 
 
 sobbed the woman, breaking into tears again. 
 " So I came to Ronda, where I am known, to seek 
 it." 
 
 " Ah, foolish woman ! " exclaimed the priest, 
 severely, and shaking his finger at her — " foolish 
 woman, to think of following such a person. 
 More foolish still is it to weep for a worthless 
 husband, especially in public, thus, on the church 
 steps, where all may see. All the other women 
 will be so pleased. It is their greatest happiness 
 to think that their neighbour's husband is worse 
 than their own. Failure is the royal road to popu- 
 larity. Dry your tears, foolish one, before you 
 make too many friends." 
 
 The woman obeyed him mechanically, with a 
 sort of dumb helplessness. 
 
 At this moment a horseman clattered past, com- 
 ing from Ronda, and hastening in the direction of 
 Bobadilla or perhaps to the Casa Barenna. He 
 wore his flat-brimmed hat well forward over the 
 eyes, and kept his gaze fixed upon the road in 
 front. There was a faint suggestion of assumed 
 absorption in his attitude, as if he knew that the 
 priest was usually at the church door at this hour, 
 and had no desire to meet his eye. It was 
 Larralde. 
 
 A few minutes later Julia Barenna, who was 
 sitting at her window watching and waiting — her 
 attitude in life — suddenly rose with eyes that 
 gleamed and trembling hands. She stood and
 
 A WISE IGNORAMUS 143 
 
 gazed down into the valley below, her attention 
 fixed on the form of a horseman slowly making 
 his way through the olive groves. Then breath- 
 lessly she turned to her mirror. 
 
 " At last ! " she whispered, her fingers busy with 
 her hair and mantilla, a thousand thoughts flying 
 through her brain, her heart throbbing in her 
 breast. In a moment the aspect of the whole 
 world had changed, in a moment Julia herself was 
 another woman. Ten years seemed to have rolled 
 away from her heart, leaving her young and girlish 
 and hopeful again. She gave one last look at her- 
 self and hurried to the door. 
 
 It was yet early in the day, and the air beneath 
 the gnarled and ancient olive-trees was cool and 
 fresh, as Julia passed under them to meet her 
 lover. He threw himself out of the saddle when 
 he saw her, and leaving his horse loose ran to 
 meet her. He took her hands and raised her 
 fingers to his lips, with a certain fervour which 
 was sincere enough, for Larralde loved Julia 
 according to his lights, though he had another 
 mistress — Ambition — who was with him always 
 and filled his thoughts sleeping and waking. Julia, 
 her face all flushed, her eyes aglow, received his 
 gallant greeting with a sort of breathless eagerness. 
 She knew she had not Larralde's whole heart, and, 
 womanlike, was not content with half. 
 
 " I have not seen you for nearly a fortnight," 
 she said.
 
 144 IN KEDAR'S TENTS 
 
 " Ah ! " answered Larralde, who had apparently 
 not kept so strict an account of the days — " ah, 
 yes; I know. But, dearest, I have been burning 
 the high-roads. I have been almost to Madrid. 
 Ah, Julia, why did you make such a mistake ? " 
 
 " What mistake ? " she asked, with a sudden 
 light of coquetry in her eyes. She thought he was 
 about to ask her why she loved him. In former 
 days he had had a pretty turn for such questions. 
 
 " In giving the letter to that scoundrel Conyng- 
 ham. He has betrayed us, and Spain is no longer 
 safe for me." 
 
 " Are you sure of this ? " asked Julia, alert. 
 Had she possessed Larralde's whole heart she 
 would have been happy enough to take part in his 
 pursuits. 
 
 Larralde gave a short laugh and shrugged his 
 shoulders. 
 
 " Heaven only knows where the letter is now ! " 
 he answered. 
 
 Julia unfolded a note and handed it to him. 
 She had received it three days earlier from Con- 
 cepcion Vara, and it was from Conyngham, saying 
 that he had left her note at the house of the 
 colonel. 
 
 " The colonel was dead before Conyngham ar- 
 rived at Xeres," said Larralde, shortly ; " and I do 
 not believe he ever left the letter. I suspected 
 that he had kept it as a little recommendation to 
 the Christinos, under whom he takes service. It
 
 A WISE IGNORAMUS 145 
 
 would have been the most natural thing to do. 
 But I have satisfied myself that the letter is not in 
 his possession." 
 
 " How ? " asked Julia, with a sudden fear that 
 blanched her face 
 
 Larralde smiled in rather a sickly way, and 
 made no answer. He turned and looked down 
 the avenue. 
 
 " I see Father Concha approaching," he said 
 " Let us go toward the house." 
 
 -o
 
 CHAPTER XIV 
 
 A WEIGHT OF EVIDENCE 
 
 "The woman who loves you is at once your detective 
 and accomplice." 
 
 The old priest was walking leisurely up the 
 avenue toward the Casa Barenna, when the 
 branches of a dwarf ilex were pushed aside, and 
 there came to him from their leafy concealment 
 not indeed a wood nymph, but Senora Barenna, 
 with her finger at her lips. 
 
 " Hush ! " she said ; " he is here." 
 
 And from the anxious and excited expression of 
 her face it became apparent that madame's nerves 
 were astir. 
 
 " Who is here ? " 
 
 " Why, Esteban Larralde, of course." 
 
 " Ah ! " said Concha, patiently ; " but need we 
 for that hide behind the bushes and walk on the 
 flower-borders ? Life would be much simpler, 
 senora, if people would only keep to the footpath 
 — less picturesque, I allow you, but simpler. 
 Shall I climb up a tree ? " 
 
 The lady cast her eyes up to heaven and heaved 
 an exaggerated sigh.
 
 A WEIGHT OF EVIDENCE 147 
 
 u Ah, what a tragedy life is ! " she whispered 
 apparently to the angels, but loud enough for her 
 companion to hear. 
 
 " Or a farce," said Concha, " according to our 
 reading of the part. Where is Senor Larralde ? ' : 
 
 " Oh, he has gone to the fruit-garden with 
 Julia ! There is a high wall all round, and one 
 cannot see. She may be murdered by this time. 
 I knew he was coming from the manner in which 
 she ran downstairs. She walks at other times." 
 
 Concha smiled rather grimly. 
 
 " She is not the first to do that," he said ; " and 
 many have stumbled on the stairs in their haste." 
 
 " Ah, you are a hard man, a terrible man with 
 no heart ! And I have no one to sympathise with 
 me. No one knows what I suffer. I never sleep 
 at night — not a wink — but lie and think of my 
 troubles. Julia will not obey me. I have warned 
 her not to rouse me to anger, and she laughs at 
 me. She persists in seeing this terrible Esteban 
 Larralde — a Carlist, if you please." 
 
 " We are all as God made us," said Concha ; 
 " with embellishments added by the Evil One," 
 he added, in a lower tone. 
 
 " And now I am going to see General Vincente. 
 I shall tell him to send soldiers. This is intoler- 
 able. I am not obeyed in my own house ! " cried 
 the lady. " I have ordered the carriage to meet 
 me at the lower gate. I dare not drive away from 
 my own door. Ah, what a tragedy ! "
 
 i 4 8 IN KEDAR'S TENTS 
 
 " I will go with you since you are determined to 
 go," said Concha. 
 
 "What! and leave Julia with that terrible 
 man ? " 
 
 " Yes," answered the priest j " happiness is a 
 dangerous thing to meddle with. There is so 
 little of it in the world, and it lasts so short a 
 time." 
 
 Seiiora Barenna indicated by a sigh and her atti- 
 tude that she had had no experience in the matter. 
 As a simple fact, she had been enabled all through 
 her life to satisfy her own desires, the subtlest form 
 of misfortune. 
 
 u Then you would have Julia marry this terrible 
 man ? " said the lady, shielding her face from the 
 sun with the black fan which she always carried. 
 
 " I am too old and too stupid to take any active 
 part in my neighbours' affairs. It is only the 
 young and inexperienced who are competent to do 
 that," answered the priest. 
 
 " But you say you are fond of Julia." 
 
 " Yes," said the priest, quietly. 
 
 " I wonder why ? " 
 
 " So do I," he said, in a tone that Seiiora 
 Barenna never understood. 
 
 " You are always kinder to her than you are to 
 me," went on the lady, in her most martyred man- 
 ner. " Her penances are always lighter than mine. 
 You are patient with her, and not with me. And 
 I am sure I have never done you any injury."
 
 A WEIGHT OF EVIDENCE 149 
 
 The old padre smiled. Perhaps he was think- 
 ing of those illusions which she had during the 
 years pulled down one by one, for the greater 
 peace of his soul. 
 
 " There is the carriage," he said. " Let us 
 hasten to General Vincente, if you still wish to 
 see him." 
 
 In a few minutes they were rattling along the 
 road, while Esteban Larralde and Julia sat side by 
 side in the shade of the great wall that surrounded 
 the fruit-garden. And one at least of them was 
 gathering that quick harvest of love, which is like 
 the grass of the field, inasmuch as to-day it is and 
 to-morrow is not. 
 
 General Vincente was at home. He was one 
 of those men who are happy in finding themselves 
 where they are wanted. So many have, on the 
 contrary, the misfortune to be always absent when 
 they are required, and the world soon learns to 
 progress without them. 
 
 " That man, that Larralde is in Ronda," said 
 Senora Barenna, bursting in on the general's soli- 
 tude. Vincente smiled, and nevertheless exchanged 
 a quick glance with Concha, who confirmed the 
 news by a movement of his shaggy eyebrows. 
 
 " Ah, these young people ! " exclaimed the 
 general, with a gay little laugh. " What it is to 
 be young and in love! But be seated, Inez — be 
 seated. Padre, a chair." 
 
 " What do you propose to do ? " asked Senora
 
 150 IN KEDAR'S TENTS 
 
 Barenna, breathlessly, for she was stout and agitated, 
 and had hurried up the steps. 
 
 " When, my dear Inez — when ? " 
 
 " But now, with this man in Ronda. You know 
 quite well he is dangerous. He is a Carlist. It 
 was only the other day that you received an anony- 
 mous letter saying that your life was in danger. 
 Of course, it was from the Carlists, and Larralde 
 has something to do with it ; or that Englishman, 
 that Senor Conyngham with the blue eyes. A 
 man with blue eyes — bah ! of course he is not to 
 be trusted." 
 
 The receiver of the anonymous warning seemed 
 to be amused. 
 
 " A little sweeping, your statements, my dear 
 Inez. Is it not so ? Now, a lemonade, the after- 
 noon is warm." 
 
 He rose and rang the bell. 
 
 " My nerves," whispered the senora to Concha — 
 " my nerves, they are so easily upset." 
 
 " The liqueurs," said the general to the servant, 
 with perfect gravity. 
 
 " You must take steps at once," urged Senora 
 Barenna, when they were alone again. She was 
 endowed with a magnificent imagination, without 
 much common sense to hold it in check, and at 
 times persuaded herself that she was in the midst, 
 and perhaps the leader of a dangerous whirl of 
 political events. 
 
 I will, my dear Inez — I will. And we will 
 
 cc
 
 A WEIGHT OF EVIDENCE 151 
 
 take a little maraschino to collect ourselves — ■ 
 eh ? " 
 
 And his manner quite indicated that it was he 
 and not Madame Barenna who was upset. The 
 lady consented, and proceeded to what she took 
 to be a consultation, which in reality was a mono- 
 logue. During this she imparted a vast deal of 
 information, and received none in return, which 
 is the habit of voluble people, and renders them 
 exceedingly dangerous to themselves and useful 
 to others. 
 
 Presently the two men conducted her to her 
 carriage with many reassurances. 
 
 " Never fear, Inez — never fear. He will be 
 gone before you return," said the general, with a 
 wave of the hand. He had consented to invite 
 Julia to accompany Estella and himself to Madrid, 
 where she would be out of harm's way. 
 
 The two men then returned to the general's 
 study, and sat down in that silence which only 
 grows to perfection on the deep sod of a long- 
 standing friendship. 
 
 Vincente was the first to speak. 
 
 "I have had a letter from Madrid," he said, 
 looking gravely at his companion. " My corre- 
 spondent tells me that Conyngham has not yet 
 presented his letter of introduction, and so far as 
 is ascertainable has not arrived in the capital. 
 He should have been there six weeks ago." 
 
 The padre took a pinch of snuff, and held the
 
 i 5 2 IN KEDAR'S TENTS 
 
 box out toward his companion, who waved it aside. 
 The general was too dainty a man to indulge in 
 such a habit. 
 
 " He possessed no money, so he cannot have 
 fallen a victim to thieves," said Concha. 
 
 " He was accompanied by a good guide, and an 
 honest enough scoundrel, so he cannot have lost 
 his way," observed the general, with a queer 
 expression of optimistic distress on his face. 
 
 " His movements are not always above suspi- 
 cion. . . ." The priest closed his snuff-box and 
 laboriously replaced it in the pocket of his cassock. 
 
 " That letter ... it was a queer business ! " 
 and the general laughed. 
 
 " Most suspicious." 
 
 There was a silence, during which Concha 
 sneezed twice, with enjoyment and more noise than 
 is usually considered necessary. 
 
 " And your letter ? " he said, carefully folding 
 his handkerchief into squares — "that anonymous 
 letter of warning that your life is threatened, is that 
 true ? It is the talk of Ronda." 
 
 " Ah, that ! " laughed Vincente. " Yes, it is 
 true enough. It is not the first time; a mere 
 incident, that is all." 
 
 " That which the Senora Barenna said just now," 
 observed the priest, slowly, " about our English 
 friend may be true. Sometimes thoughtless people 
 arrive at a conclusion which eludes more careful 
 minds."
 
 A WEIGHT OF EVIDENCE 153 
 
 " Yes, my dear padre — yes." 
 
 The two gray-headed men looked at each other 
 for a moment in silence. 
 
 " And yet you trust him," said Concha. 
 
 " Despite myself — despite my better judgment, 
 my dear friend." 
 
 The priest rose and went to the window which 
 overlooked the garden. 
 
 " Estella is in the garden ? " he asked, and 
 received no answer. 
 
 " I know what you are thinking," said the gen- 
 eral. " You are thinking that we should do well 
 to tell Estella of these very distressing suspicions." 
 
 " For you it does not matter," replied the 
 priest. " It is a mere incident, as you say. Your 
 life has been attempted before, and you killed both 
 the men with your own hand, if I recollect 
 aright." 
 
 Vincente shrugged his shoulders, and looked 
 rather embarrassed. 
 
 " But a woman," went on Concha, " cannot af- 
 ford to trust a man against her better judgment." 
 
 By way of reply the general rose and rang the 
 bell, requesting the servant, when he answered the 
 summons, to ask the senorita to spare a few moments 
 of her time. 
 
 They exchanged no further words until Estella 
 came, hurrying into the room with a sudden flush 
 on her cheeks and something in her dark eyes that 
 made her father say at once :
 
 154 IN KEDAR'S TENTS 
 
 " It is not bad news that we have, my child." 
 
 Estella glanced at Concha and said nothing. 
 His wise old eyes rested for a moment on her face 
 with a little frown of anxiety. 
 
 u We have had a visit from the Senora Barenna," 
 went on the general, " and she is anxious that we 
 should invite Julia to go to Madrid with us. It 
 appears that Esteban Larralde is still attempting to 
 force his attentions upon Julia, and is at present in 
 Ronda. You will not object to her coming with 
 us ? " 
 
 " Oh, no," said Estella, without much interest. 
 
 " We have also heard rather disquieting news 
 about our pleasant friend, Mr. Conyngham," said 
 the general, examining the tassel of his sword ; 
 " and I think it is only right to tell you that I fear 
 we have been deceived in him." 
 
 There was silence for a few moments, and then 
 Vincente spoke again. 
 
 " In these times one is almost compelled to 
 suspect one's nearest friends. Much harm may be 
 done by being over-trustful, and appearances are so 
 consistently against Mr. Conyngham, that it would 
 be folly to ignore them." 
 
 The general waited for Estella to make some 
 comment, and after a pause continued : 
 
 " He arrived in Ronda under singularly unfortu- 
 nate circumstances, and I was compelled to have 
 his travelling companion shot. Then occurred 
 that affair of the letter, which has never been
 
 A WEIGHT OF EVIDENCE 155 
 
 explained. Conyngham would have to show me 
 that letter before I should be quite satisfied. I 
 obtained for him an introduction to General Espar- 
 tero, in Madrid. That was six or seven weeks 
 ago. The introduction has not been presented, 
 nor has Conyngham been seen in Madrid. In 
 England, on his own confession, he was rather a 
 scamp ; why not the same in Spain ? " 
 
 The general spread out his hands in his favourite 
 gesture of deprecation. He had not made the 
 world, and while deeply deploring that such things 
 could be, he tacitly admitted that the human race had 
 not been, creatively speaking, a complete success. 
 
 Father Concha was brushing invisible grains of 
 snuff from his cassock sleeve and watching Estella 
 with anxious eyes. 
 
 " I only tell you, my dear," continued the gen- 
 eral, " so that we may know how to treat Mr. 
 Conyngham should we meet him in Madrid. I 
 liked him. I like a roving man — and many Eng- 
 lishmen are thus wanderers — but appearances are 
 very much against him." 
 
 "Yes," admitted Estella, quietly — "yes." 
 
 She moved toward the door, and there turning 
 looked at Concha. 
 
 " Does the padre stay to dinner ? " she asked. 
 
 " No, my child ; thank you — no, I have affairs 
 at home." 
 
 Estella went out of the room, leaving a queer 
 silence behind her.
 
 156 IN KEDAR'S TENTS 
 
 Presently Concha rose. 
 
 " I, too, am going to Madrid," he said. " It is 
 an opportunity to press my claim for the payment 
 of my princely stipend, now two years overdue." 
 
 He walked home on the shady side of the street, 
 exchanging many salutations, pausing now and 
 then to speak to a friend. Indeed, nearly every 
 passer-by counted himself as such. 
 
 In his bare room, where the merest necessities 
 of life scarce had place, he sat down thoughtfully. 
 The furniture, the few books, his own apparel 
 bespoke the direst poverty. This was one who, 
 in his simplicity, read his Master's words quite 
 literally, and went about his work with neither 
 purse nor scrip. The priest presently rose and 
 took from a shelf an old wooden box quaintly 
 carved and studded with iron nails. A search in 
 the drawer of the table resulted in the finding of a 
 key, and the final discovery of a small parcel at 
 the bottom of the box, which contained letters and 
 other papers. 
 
 " The rainy day, it comes at last," said the 
 Padre Concha, counting out his little stock of 
 silver with the care that only comes from the 
 knowledge that each coin represents a self-denial.
 
 CHAPTER XV 
 
 AN ULTIMATUM 
 '« I do believe yourself against yourself." 
 
 Neither Estella nor her father had a great liking 
 for the city of Madrid, which, indeed, is at no time 
 desirable. In the winter it is cold, in the summer 
 exceedingly hot, and during the changes of the 
 seasons of a treacherous weather difficult to sur- 
 pass. The social atmosphere was no more genial 
 at the period with which we deal, for it blew hot 
 and cold, and treachery marked every change. 
 
 Although the Queen Regent seemed to be near- 
 ing at last a successful issue to her long and event- 
 ful struggle against Don Carlos, she had enemies 
 nearer home, whose movements were equally dan- 
 gerous to the throne of the child-queen. 
 
 " I cannot afford to have an honest soldier so 
 far removed from the capital," said Christina, who 
 never laid aside the woman while playing the 
 Queen, as Vincente kissed her hand on present- 
 ing himself at court. The general smiled and 
 shrugged his shoulders. 
 
 "What did she say — what did she say?" the 
 intriguers whispered eagerly, as the great soldier
 
 158 IN KEDAR'S TENTS 
 
 made his way toward the door, with the haste of 
 one who was no courtier. But they received no 
 answer. 
 
 The general had taken a suite of rooms in one 
 of the hotels on the Puerta del Sol, and hurried 
 thither, well pleased to have escaped so easily from 
 a palace where self-seeking — that grim spirit that 
 haunts the abodes of royalty — had long reigned 
 supreme. 
 
 There was, the servants told him, a visitor in 
 the salon, one who had asked for the general, and 
 on learning of his absence had insisted on being 
 received by the senorita. 
 
 " That sounds like Conyngham," muttered the 
 general, unbuckling his sword, for he had but one 
 weapon, and wore it in the presence of the Queen 
 and her enemies alike. 
 
 It was, indeed, Conyngham, whose gay laugh 
 Vincente heard before he crossed the threshold of 
 Estella's drawing-room. The Englishman was in 
 uniform, and stood with his back turned toward 
 the door by which the general entered. 
 
 " It is Senor Conyngham," said Estella at once, 
 in a quiet voice, " who has been wounded and six 
 weeks in the hospital." 
 
 " Yes," said Conyngham ; " but I am well 
 again now. And I got my appointment while I 
 was still in the Sisters' care." 
 
 He laughed, though his face was pale and thin, 
 and approached the general with extended hand.
 
 AN ULTIMATUM 159 
 
 The general had come to Madrid with the inten- 
 tion of refusing to take that hand, and those who 
 knew him said that this soldier never swerved from 
 his purpose. He looked for a moment into 
 Conyngham's eyes, and then shook hands with 
 him. He did not disguise the hesitation, which 
 was apparent to both Estella and the Englishman. 
 
 " How were you wounded ? " he asked. 
 
 " I was stabbed in the back on the Toledo road, 
 ten miles from here." 
 
 " Not by a robber, not for your money." 
 
 " No one ever hated me or cared for me on that 
 account," laughed Conyngham. 
 
 " Then who did it ? " asked General Vincente, 
 unbuttoning his gloves. 
 
 Conyngham hesitated. 
 
 "A man with whom I quarrelled on the road," he 
 made reply ; but it was no answer at all, as hearers 
 and speaker alike recognised in a flash of thought. 
 
 " He left me for dead on the road, but a carter 
 picked me up and brought me to Madrid, to the 
 hospital of the Hermanas, where I have been ever 
 since." 
 
 There were flowers on the table, and the gen- 
 eral stooped over them with a delicate appreciation 
 of their scent. He was a great lover of flowers, 
 and, indeed, had a sense of the beautiful quite out 
 of keeping with the colour of his coat. 
 
 " You must beware," he said, " now that you 
 wear the Queen's uniform. There is treachery
 
 160 IN KEDAR'S TENTS 
 
 abroad, I fear. Even I have had an anonymous 
 letter of warning." 
 
 " I should like to know who wrote it," ex- 
 claimed Conyngham, with a sudden flash of anger 
 in his eyes. 
 
 The general laughed pleasantly. 
 
 " So should I," he said ; " merely as a matter 
 of curiosity." 
 
 And he turned toward the door, which was 
 opened at this moment by a servant. 
 
 " A gentleman wishing to see me, an English- 
 man as it would appear," he continued, looking at 
 the card. 
 
 " By the way," said Conyngham, as the general 
 moved away, " I am instructed to inform you that 
 I am attached to your staff, as an extra aide-de- 
 camp, during your stay in Madrid." 
 
 The general nodded, and left Estella and 
 Conyngham alone in the drawing-room. Conyng- 
 ham turned on Estella. 
 
 " So that I have a right to be near you," he 
 said, "which is all that I want." 
 
 He spoke lightly enough, as was his habit, but 
 Estella, who was wise in those matters that women 
 know, preferred not to meet his eyes, which were 
 grave and deep. 
 
 " Such things are quickly said," Estella retorted. 
 
 " Yes ; and it takes a long time to prove them." 
 
 The general had left his gloves on the table. 
 Estella took them up and appeared to be interested 
 in them.
 
 AN ULTIMATUM 161 
 
 " Perhaps a lifetime," she suggested. 
 
 " I ask no less, senorita." 
 
 "Then you ask much." 
 
 u And I give all, though that is little enough." 
 
 They spoke slowly, not bandying words, but 
 exchanging thoughts. Estella was grave. Con- 
 yngham's attitude was that which he ever dis- 
 played to the world — namely, one of cheerful 
 optimism, as behooved a strong man who had not 
 yet known fear. 
 
 " Is it too little, senorita ? " he asked. 
 
 She was sitting at the table, and would not look 
 up, neither would she answer his question. He 
 was standing quite close to her, upright in his 
 bright uniform, his hand on his sword, and all her 
 attention was fixed on the flowers which had called 
 forth the general's outspoken admiration. She 
 touched them with fingers hardly lighter than 
 
 his. 
 
 "Now that I think of it," said Conyngham, 
 after a pause, "what I give is nothing." 
 
 Estella's face wore a queer little smile, as of a 
 deeper knowledge. 
 
 " Nothing at all," continued the Englishman ; 
 " for I have nothing to give, and you know noth- 
 ing of me." 
 
 " Three months ago," answered Estella, " we 
 had never heard of you, and you had never seen 
 me," she added, with a little laugh. 
 
 " I have seen nothing else since," Conyngham 
 
 1 1
 
 162 IN KEDAR'S TENTS 
 
 replied deliberately, " for I have gone about the 
 world a blind man." 
 
 " In three months one cannot decide matters 
 that affect a whole lifetime," said the girl. 
 
 " This matter decided itself in three minutes, so 
 far as I am concerned, senorita, in the old palace 
 at Ronda. It is a matter that time is powerless to 
 affect one way or the other." 
 
 " With some people ; but you are hasty and 
 impetuous. My father said it of you, and he is 
 never mistaken." 
 
 " Then you do not trust me, senorita." 
 
 Estella had turned away her face, so that he 
 could only see her mantilla and the folds of her 
 golden hair gleaming through the black lace. She 
 shrugged her shoulders. 
 
 " It is not due to yourself nor to all who know 
 you in Spain if I do," she said. 
 
 " All who know me . . . ? " 
 
 "Yes," she continued — "Father Concha, 
 Senora Barrena, my father, and others at Ronda." 
 
 " Ah ! And what leads them to mistrust me ? " 
 
 " Your own actions," replied Estella. 
 
 And Conyngham was too simple-minded, too 
 inexperienced in such matters to understand the 
 ring of anxiety in her voice. 
 
 " I do not much mind what the rest of the 
 world thinks of me," he said. " I have never 
 owed anything to the world, nor asked anything 
 from it. They are welcome to think what they
 
 AN ULTIMATUM 163 
 
 like. But with you it is different. Is it possible, 
 sefiorita, to make you trust me ? " 
 
 Estella did not answer at once. After a pause 
 she gave an indifferent jerk of the head. 
 
 " Perhaps," she said. 
 
 " If it is possible, I will do it." 
 
 " It is quite easy," she answered, raising her 
 head and looking out of the window, with an air 
 that seemed to indicate that her interests lay with- 
 out and not in this room at all. 
 
 " How can I do it ? " 
 
 She gave a short, hard laugh, which to expe- 
 rienced ears would have betrayed her instantly. 
 
 " By showing me the letter you wrote to Julia 
 Barenna," she said. 
 
 " I cannot do that." 
 
 " No ? " she said significantly. A woman 
 fighting for her own happiness is no sparing ad- 
 versary. 
 
 " Will nothing else than the sight of that letter 
 satisfy you, sefiorita ? " 
 
 Her profile was turned toward him, delicate and 
 proud, with the perfect chiselling of outline that 
 only comes with a long descent and bespeaks the 
 blood of a line of gentle ancestors, for Estella 
 Vincente had in her veins blood that was counted 
 noble in Spain, the land of a bygone glory. 
 
 " Nothing," she answered ; " though the ques- 
 tion of my being satisfied is hardly of importance. 
 You asked me to trust you, and you make it diffi-
 
 1 64 IN KEDAR'S TENTS 
 
 cult by your actions. In return I ask a proof, that 
 is all." ' 
 
 " Do you want to trust me ? " 
 
 He had come a little closer to her, and was 
 grave enough now. 
 
 " Why do you ask that ? " she inquired in a low 
 voice. 
 
 " Do you want to trust me ? " he asked, and it 
 is to be supposed that he was able to detect an 
 infinitesimal acquiescent movement of her head. 
 
 " Then if that letter is in existence you shall 
 have it," he said. " You say that my actions 
 have borne evidence against me. I shall trust to 
 action and not to words to refute that evidence. 
 But you must give me time. Will you do that ? " 
 
 " You always ask something." 
 
 u Yes, senorita, from you, but from no one else 
 in the world." 
 
 He gave a sudden laugh and walked to the win- 
 dow where he stood looking at her. 
 
 " I suppose," he said, " I shall be asking all my 
 life from you. Perhaps that is why we were 
 created, senorita — I to ask, you to give; perhaps 
 that is happiness, Estella." 
 
 She raised her eyes, but did not meet his, look- 
 ing past him through the open window. The 
 hotel was situated at the lower end of the Puerta 
 del Sol, the quiet end and farthest removed from 
 the hum of the market and the busy sounds of 
 traffic. These only came in the form of a distant
 
 AN ULTIMATUM 165 
 
 hum, like the continuous roar of surf upon an 
 unseen shore. Below the windows a passing 
 water-seller plied his trade, and his monotonous 
 cry of " Agua — a — a ! Agua — a — a ! " rose 
 like a wail, like the voice of one crying in that 
 human wilderness where solitude reigns as surely 
 as in the desert. 
 
 For a moment Estella glanced at Conyngham 
 gravely, and his eyes were no less serious. They 
 were not the first, but only two out of many mil- 
 lions, to wonder what happiness is, and where it 
 hides in this busy world. 
 
 They had not spoken or moved, when the door 
 was again opened by a servant, who bowed toward 
 Conyngham, and then stood aside to allow in- 
 gress to one who followed on his heels. This was 
 a tall man, white-haired and white of face. In- 
 deed, his cheeks had the dead pallor of paper, and 
 seemed to be drawn over the cheek-bones at such 
 tension as gave to the skin a polish like that of 
 fine marble. One sees many such faces in Lon- 
 don streets, and they usually indicate suffering, 
 either mental or physical. 
 
 The stranger came forward with a perfect lack 
 of embarrassment, which proved him to be a man 
 of the world. His bow to Estella clearly indi- 
 cated that his business lay with Conyngham. He 
 was the incarnation of the Continental ideal of 
 the polished, cold Englishman, and had the air of 
 a diplomat, such as this country sends to foreign
 
 166 IN KEDAR'S TENTS 
 
 courts to praise or blame, to declare friendship or 
 war with the same calm suavity and imperturbable 
 politeness. 
 
 " I come from General Vincente," he said to 
 Conyngham, " who will follow in a moment, when 
 he has despatched some business which detains 
 him. I have a letter to the general, and am, in 
 fact, in need of his assistance." 
 
 He broke off, turning to Estella, who was mov- 
 ing toward the door. 
 
 " I was especially instructed," he said quickly to 
 her, " to ask you not to leave us. You were, I 
 believe, at school with my nieces in England, and 
 when my business, which is of the briefest, is con- 
 cluded, I have messages to deliver to you from 
 Mary and Amy Main waring." 
 
 Estella smiled a little and resumed her seat. 
 
 Then the stranger turned to Conyngham. 
 
 " The general told me," he went on, in his 
 cold voice, without a gleam of geniality or even 
 of life in his eyes, " that if I followed the ser- 
 vant to the drawing-room I should find here an 
 English aide-de-camp, who is fully in his confi- 
 dence, and upon whose good-nature and assist- 
 ance I could rely." 
 
 " I am for the time General Vincente's aide- 
 de-camp, and I am an Englishman," answered 
 Conyngham. 
 
 The stranger bowed. 
 
 " I did not explain my business to General
 
 AN ULTIMATUM 167 
 
 Vincente," said he, " who asked me to wait un- 
 til he came, and then tell the story to you both 
 at one time. In the mean time I was to intro- 
 duce myself to you." 
 
 Conyngham waited in silence. 
 
 " My name is Sir John Pleydell," said the 
 stranger, quietly.
 
 CHAPTER XVI 
 
 IN HONOUR 
 
 " He makes no friend who never made a foe." 
 
 Conyngham remembered the name of Pleydell 
 well enough, and glanced sharply at Estella, recol- 
 lecting that the general received the Times from 
 London. Before he had time to make an answer 
 — and, indeed, he had none ready — the general 
 came into the room. 
 
 " Ah ! " said Vincente, in his emphatically socia- 
 ble manner, " I see you know each other already, 
 so an introduction is superfluous. And now we 
 will have Sir John's story. Be seated, my dear 
 sir. But first a little refreshment. It is a dusty 
 day — a lemonade ? " 
 
 Sir John declined, his manner strikingly cold 
 and reserved beside the genial empressement of Gen- 
 eral Vincente. In truth, the two men seemed to 
 belong to opposite poles, the one of cold and the 
 other of heat. Sir John had the chill air of one 
 who had mixed among his fellow-men only to see 
 their evil side. For this world is a cold place to 
 those that look on it with a chilling glance. Gen- 
 eral Vincente, on the other hand, whose life had
 
 IN HONOUR 169 
 
 been passed in strife and warfare, seemed ready to 
 welcome all comers as friends, and hold out the 
 hand of good-fellowship to rich and poor alike. 
 
 Conyngham shrugged his shoulders with a queer 
 smile. Here was a quandary requiring a quicker 
 brain than his. He did not even attempt to seek 
 a solution to his difficulties, and the only thought 
 in his mind was a characteristic determination to 
 face them courageously. He drew forward a chair 
 for Sir John Pleydell, his heart stirred with that 
 sense of exhilaration which comes to some in 
 moments of peril. 
 
 " I will not detain you long," began the new- 
 comer, with an air slightly suggestive of the law 
 court, " but there are certain details which, I am 
 afraid, I must inflict upon you in order that you 
 may fully understand my actions." 
 
 The remark was addressed to General Vincente, 
 although the speaker appeared to be demanding 
 Conyngham's attention in the first instance. The 
 learned gentlemen of the Bar thus often address 
 the jury through the ears of the judge. 
 
 General Vincente had seated himself at the 
 table, and was drawing his scented pocket-hand- 
 kerchief across his moustache reflectively. He 
 was not, it was obvious, keenly interested, although 
 desirous of showing every politeness to the stran- 
 ger. In truth, such Englishmen as brought their 
 affairs to Spain at this time were not, as a rule, 
 highly desirable persons or a credit to their coun-
 
 170 IN KEDAR'S TENTS 
 
 try. Estella was sitting near the window, rather 
 behind her father, and Conyngham stood by the 
 fireplace, facing them all. 
 
 " You perhaps know something of our English 
 politics," continued Sir John Pleydell, and, the 
 general making a little gesture indicative of a lim- 
 ited but sufficient knowledge, went on to say, " of 
 the Chartists more particularly." 
 
 The general bowed. Estella glanced at Con- 
 yngham, who was smiling. 
 
 " One cannot call them a party, as I have heard 
 them designated in Spain," said Sir John, paren- 
 thetically. " They are quite unworthy of so dis- 
 tinguished a name. These Chartists consist of the 
 most ignorant people in the land — the rabble, in 
 fact — headed by a few scheming malcontents, 
 professional agitators, who are not above picking 
 the pockets of the poor. Many capitalists and 
 land-owners have suffered wrong and loss at the 
 hands of these disturbers of the peace ; none . . ." 
 he paused and gave a sharp sigh, which seemed to 
 catch him unawares, and almost suggested that the 
 man, after all, had or had at one time possessed a 
 heart — "none more severely than myself," he 
 concluded. 
 
 The general's face instantly expressed the ut- 
 most concern. 
 
 " My dear sir," he murmured. 
 
 " For many years," continued Sir John, hur- 
 riedly, as if resenting anything like sympathy — as
 
 IN HONOUR 171 
 
 all good Britons do — " the authorities acted in an 
 irresolute and foolish manner, not daring to put 
 down the disturbance with a firm hand. At 
 length, however, a riot of a more serious charac- 
 ter at a town in Wales necessitated the interfer- 
 ence of the military. The ringleaders were 
 arrested, and for some time the authorities were in 
 considerable doubt as to what to do with them. I 
 interested myself strongly in the matter, having 
 practised the law in my younger days, and was 
 finally enabled to see my object carried out. 
 These men were arraigned not as mere brawlers 
 and rioters, but under a charge of high treason — 
 a much more serious affair for them." 
 
 He broke off with a harsh laugh, which was 
 only a matter of the voice, for his marble face 
 remained unchanged and probably had not at 
 any time the power of expressing mirth. 
 
 " The ringleaders of the Newport riots were 
 sentenced to long terms of imprisonment, which 
 served my purpose excellently." 
 
 Sir John Pleydell spoke with that cynical frank- 
 ness which seems often to follow upon a few years 
 devoted to practice at the Common Law Bar, 
 where men, indeed, spend their days in dissecting 
 the mental diseases of their fellow-creatures, and 
 learn to conclude that a pure and healthy mind is 
 possessed by none. He moved slightly in his 
 chair, and seemed to indicate that he had made his 
 first point.
 
 i 7 2 IN KEDAR'S TENTS 
 
 " I hope," he said, addressing Conyngham di- 
 rectly, " that I am not fatiguing you." 
 
 " Not at all," returned the younger Englishman, 
 coolly ; " I am much interested." 
 
 The general was studying the texture of his 
 pocket-handkerchief. Estella's face had grown 
 cold and set. Her eyes from time to time turned 
 toward Conyngham. Sir John Pleydell was not 
 creating a good impression. 
 
 " I will now come to the more personal part of 
 my story," went on that gifted speaker, " and pro- 
 ceed to explain my reason for inflicting it upon 
 you." 
 
 He still spoke directly to Conyngham, who 
 bowed his head in silence, with the queer smile 
 still hovering on his lips. Estella saw it and drew 
 a sharp breath. In the course of her short life, 
 which had almost been spent in the midst of war- 
 fare, she had seen men in danger more than once, 
 and perhaps recognised that smile. 
 
 " I particularly beg your attention," explained 
 Sir John to Conyngham, " because I understand 
 from General Vincente that you are in reality 
 attached to the staff of General Espartero, and it is 
 to him that I look for help." 
 
 Sir John paused again. He had established 
 another point. One almost expected to see him 
 raise his hand to his shoulder to throw back the 
 silken gown. 
 
 " Some months ago," he went on, " these Chart-
 
 IN HONOUR 173 
 
 ists attacked my house in the North of England, 
 and killed my son." 
 
 There was a short silence, and the general mut- 
 tered a short and polite Spanish oath under his 
 breath. But somehow the speaker had failed to 
 make that point, and he hurried on : 
 
 " It was not, technically speaking, a murder. 
 My boy, who had a fine spirit, attacked the rioters, 
 and a clever counsel might have got a verdict for 
 the scoundrel who actually struck the blow. I 
 knew this, and awaited events. I did not even 
 take steps against the man who killed my son, 
 ... an only son and child. It was not from a 
 legal point of view worth while." 
 
 He laughed his unpleasant laugh again, and pre- 
 sently went on : 
 
 " Fortune, however, favoured me. The trouble 
 got worse, and the Newport riots at last aroused 
 the government. The sentence upon the ring- 
 leaders gave me my opportunity. It was worth 
 while to hunt down the murderer of my son when 
 I could ensure him sixteen or twenty years of penal 
 servitude." 
 
 " Quite," said the general — " quite." And he 
 smiled. He seemed to fail to realise that Sir John 
 Pleydell was in deadly earnest, and really harboured 
 the implacable spirit of revenge with which he 
 cynically credited himself. 
 
 " I traced my man to Gibraltar, and from thence 
 he appears to have come North," continued Sir
 
 r 7 4 IN KEDAR'S TENTS 
 
 John Pleydell. " He has probably taken service 
 under Espartero. Many of our English outlaws 
 wear the Spanish Queen's uniform. He is, of 
 course, bearing an assumed name, but surely it 
 would be possible to trace him." 
 
 " Oh, yes," answered Conyngham, " I think 
 you will be able to find him." 
 
 Sir John's eyes had for a moment a gleam of life 
 in them. 
 
 " Ah ! " he said, " I am glad to hear you say 
 that; for that is my object in coming to this coun- 
 try, and although I have during the course of my 
 life had many objects of ambition or desire, none 
 of them has so entirely absorbed my attention as 
 this one. Half a dozen men have gone to penal 
 servitude in order that I might succeed in my 
 purpose." 
 
 There was a cold deliberation in this statement, 
 which was more cruel than cynicism, for it was 
 sincere. Conyngham looked at Estella. Her face 
 had lost all colour, her eyes were burning, not with 
 the dull light of fear, for the blood that ran in her 
 veins had no taint of that in it, but with anger. 
 She knew whom it was that Sir John Pleydell 
 sought. She looked at Conyngham, and his smile 
 of cool intrepidity made her heart leap within her 
 breast. This lover of hers was, at all events, a 
 brave man, and that which through all the ages 
 reaches the human heart most surely is courage. 
 The coward has no friends.
 
 IN HONOUR 175 
 
 Sir John Pleydell had paused, and was seeking 
 something in his pocket. General Vincente pre- 
 served his attitude of slightly bored attention. 
 
 " I have here," went on the baronet, " a list of 
 the English officers serving in the army of Gen- 
 eral Espartero at the time of my quitting England. 
 Perhaps you will, at your leisure, be kind enough 
 to cast your eye over it, and make a note of such 
 men as are personally unknown to you, and may, 
 therefore, be bearing assumed names." 
 
 Conyngham took the paper, and holding it in his 
 hand spoke without moving from the mantel-piece, 
 against which he leant. 
 
 " You have not yet made quite clear your object 
 in coming to Spain," he said. " There exists 
 between Spain and England no extradition treaty, 
 and even if such were to come in force, I believe 
 that persons guilty of political offences would be 
 exempt from its action. You propose to arraign 
 this man for high treason, a political offence 
 according to the law of many countries." 
 
 " You speak like a lawyer," said Sir John, with 
 a laugh. 
 
 " You have just informed us," retorted Conyng- 
 ham, " that all the English in the Spanish service 
 are miscreants. None know the law so intimately 
 as those who have broken it." 
 
 " Ah ! " laughed Sir John again, with a face of 
 stone ; " there are exceptions to all rules, and you, 
 young sir, are an exception to that which I laid
 
 176 IN KEDAR'S TENTS 
 
 down as regards our countrymen in Spain, unless 
 my experience of faces and knowledge of men play 
 me very false. But your contention is a just one. 
 I am not in a position to seek the aid of the Spanish 
 authorities in this matter. I am fully aware of the 
 fact. You surely did not expect me to come to 
 Spain with such a weak case as that ? " 
 
 " No," answered Conyngham, slowly, " I did 
 not." 
 
 Sir John Pleydell raised his eyes and looked at 
 his fellow-countryman with a dawning interest. 
 The general also looked up from one face to the 
 other. The atmosphere of the room seemed to 
 have undergone a sudden change, and to be domi- 
 nated by the personality of the two Englishmen. 
 The one will, strong on the surface, accustomed 
 to assert itself and dominate, seemed suddenly to 
 have found itself faced by another as strong, and 
 yet hidden behind an easy smile and indolent 
 manner. 
 
 " You are quite right," he went on in his cold 
 voice. " I have a better case than that, and one 
 eminently suited to a country such as Spain, where 
 a long war has reduced law and order to a 
 somewhat low ebb. I at first thought of com- 
 ing here to await my chance of shooting this 
 man — his name, by the way, is Frederick Con- 
 yngham — but circumstances placed a better 
 vengeance within my grasp, one that will last 
 longer."
 
 IN HONOUR 177 
 
 He paused for a moment to reflect upon his 
 long-drawn expiation. 
 
 " I propose to get my man home to England, 
 and let him there stand his trial. The idea is not 
 my own ; it has, in fact, been carried out success- 
 fully before now. Once in England, I shall make 
 it my business to see that he gets twenty years' 
 penal servitude." 
 
 u And how do you propose to get him to Eng- 
 land ? " asked Conyngham. 
 
 " Oh, that is simple enough ! Only a matter 
 of paying a couple of such scoundrels as I under- 
 stand abound in Spain at this moment, a little 
 bribery of officials, a heavy fee to some English ship 
 captain — I propose, in short, to kidnap Frederick 
 Conyngham. But I do not ask you to help me in 
 that. I only ask you to put me on his track ; to 
 help me to find him, in fact. Will you do it? " 
 
 " Certainly," said Conyngham, coming forward 
 with a card in his hand ; " you could not have 
 come to a better man." 
 
 Sir John Pleydell read the card, and had himself 
 
 in such control that his face hardly changed. His 
 
 teeth closed over his lower lip for a second, then 
 
 he rose. The perspiration stood out on his face, 
 
 the gray of his eyes seemed to have faded to the 
 
 colour of ashes. He looked hard at Conyngham, 
 
 and then taking up his hat, went to the door 
 
 with nervous, uneven steps. On the threshold he 
 
 turned. 
 
 12
 
 178 IN KEDAR'S TENTS 
 
 u 
 
 Your insolence," he said, breathlessly," is only 
 exceeded by your — daring ! " 
 
 As the door closed behind him there came from 
 that part of the room where General Vincente sat 
 a muffled click of steel, as if a sword half out of 
 its scabbard had been sent softly home again.
 
 CHAPTER XVII 
 
 IN MADRID 
 
 u Le plus grand art d'un habile homme est celui de savoir 
 cacher son habilete." 
 
 " Who travels slowly may arrive too late," said 
 the Padre Concha, with a pessimistic shake of the 
 head, as the carrier's cart, in which he had come 
 from Toledo, drew up in the Plazuela de la Cebada, 
 at Madrid. The careful penury of many years 
 had not, indeed, enabled the old priest to travel by 
 the quick dillgencias, which had often passed him 
 on the road with a cloud of dust and the rattle of 
 six horses. The great journey had been accom- 
 plished in the humbler vehicles plying from town 
 to town, that ran as often as not by night, in order 
 to save the horses. 
 
 The priest, like his fellow-travellers, was white 
 with dust. Dust covered his cloak, so that its 
 original hue of dusty black was quite lost. Dust 
 covered his face and nestled in the deep wrinkles 
 of it. His eyebrows were lost to sight, and his 
 lashes were like those of a miller. 
 
 As he stood in the street, the dust arose in 
 whirling columns and enveloped all who were
 
 180 IN KEDAR'S TENTS 
 
 abroad, for a gale was howling across the table- 
 land, which the Moors of old had named majerit^ a 
 draught of wind. The conductor, who, like a good 
 and jovial conductor, had never refused an offer of 
 refreshment on the road, was now muddled with 
 drink and the heat of the sun. He was, in fact, 
 engaged in a warm controversy with a passenger, 
 so the padre found his own humble portmanteau — 
 a thing of cardboard and canvas — and trudged up 
 the Calle de Toledo, bearing it in one hand and his 
 cloak in the other, a lean figure in the sunlight. 
 
 Father Concha had been in Madrid before, 
 though he rarely boasted of it, or indeed of any 
 of his travels. 
 
 " The wise man does not hang his knowledge 
 on a hook," he was in the habit of saying. 
 
 That this knowledge was of that useful descrip- 
 tion which is usually designated as knowing one's 
 way about soon became apparent, for the dusty 
 traveller passed with unerring steps through the 
 narrower streets that lie between the Calle de 
 Toledo and the street of Legovia. Here dwell 
 the humbler citizens of Madrid, persons engaged 
 in the small commerce of the market-place, for in 
 the Plazuela de la Cebada, a hundred yards away, 
 is held the corn market, which, indeed, renders the 
 dust in this quarter particularly trying to the eyes. 
 Once or twice the priest was forced to stop at the 
 corner of two streets, and there do battle with the 
 wind.
 
 IN MADRID 181 
 
 " But it is a hurricane," he muttered — "a 
 hurricane." 
 
 With one hand he held his hat, with the other 
 clung to his cloak and portmanteau. 
 
 " But it will blow the dust from my poor old 
 capa" he added, giving the cloak an additional 
 shake. 
 
 He presently found himself in a street which, if 
 narrower than its neighbours, smelt less pestiferous. 
 The open drain that ran down the middle of it 
 pursued its varied course with a quite respectable 
 speed. In the middle of the street Father Concha 
 paused and looked up, nodding, as if to an old 
 friend, at the sight of a dingy piece of palm bound 
 to the ironwork of a balcony on the second floor. 
 
 " The time to wash off the dust," he muttered, 
 as he climbed the narrow stairs, "and then to 
 work." 
 
 An hour later he was afoot again in a quarter 
 of the city which was less known to him — 
 namely, in the Calle Preciados, where he sought 
 a venta more or less suspected by the police. The 
 wind had risen, and was now blowing with the 
 force of a hurricane. It came from the northwest 
 with a chill whistle, which bespoke its birthplace 
 among the peaks of the Guadarramas. The 
 streets were deserted ; the oil-lamps swung on 
 their chains at the street corners, casting weird 
 shadows that swept over the face of the houses 
 with uncanny irregularity. It was an evening for
 
 182 IN KEDAR'S TENTS 
 
 evil deeds, except that when nature is in an ill- 
 humour human nature is mostly cowed, and those 
 who have but bad consciences cannot rid their 
 minds of thoughts of the hereafter. 
 
 The padre found the house he sought, despite 
 the darkness of the street and the absence of any 
 from whom to elicit information. The venta was 
 on the ground floor, and above it towered story 
 after story, built with the quaint fantasy of the 
 middle ages, and surmounted by a deep, over- 
 hanging gabled roof. The house seemed to 
 have two staircases of stones and two doors, one 
 on each side of the venta. There is a Spanish 
 proverb which says that the rat which has only 
 one hole is soon caught. Perhaps the architect 
 remembered this, and had built his house to suit 
 his tenants. 
 
 It was on the fifth floor of this tenement that 
 Father Concha, instructed by Heaven knows what 
 priestly source of information, looked to meet with 
 Sebastian, the whilom body-servant of the late 
 Colonel Monreal, of Xeres. 
 
 It was known among a certain section of the 
 Royalists that this man had papers, and perchance 
 some information of value to dispose of, and more 
 than one respectable black-clad elbow had brushed 
 the greasy walls of this stairway. Sebastian, it 
 was said, passed his time in drinking and smoking. 
 The boasted gaieties of Madrid had, it would ap- 
 pear, diminished to this sordid level of dissipation.
 
 IN MADRID 183 
 
 The man was, indeed, thus occupied when the 
 old priest opened the door of his room. 
 
 " Yes," he answered, in a thick voice, " I am 
 Sebastian, of Xeres, and no other, the man who 
 knows more of the Carlist plots than any other 
 in Madrid." 
 
 " Can you read ? " 
 
 " No." 
 
 " Then you know nothing," said the padre. 
 " You have, however, a letter in a pink envelope 
 which a friend of mine desires to possess. It is a 
 letter of no importance, of no political value — a 
 love-letter, in fact." 
 
 " Ah, yes — ah, yes ! That may be, reverendo. 
 But there are others who want it — your love- 
 letter." 
 
 " I offer you, on the part of my friend, a hun- 
 dred pesetas for this letter." 
 
 The wrinkled face wore a grim smile. It was 
 so little — a hundred pesetas — the price of a 
 dinner for two persons at one of the great res- 
 taurants on the Puerta del Sol. But to Father 
 Concha the sum represented five hundred cups of 
 black coffee denied to himself in the evening at 
 the cafe, five hundred packets of cigarettes, so- 
 called of Havana, unsmoked, two new cassocks in 
 the course of twenty years, a hundred little gastro- 
 nomic delights sternly resisted season after season. 
 " Not enough, your hundred pesetas, reverendo 
 — not enough," laughed the man. And Concha,
 
 1 84 IN KEDAR'S TENTS 
 
 who could drive as keen a bargain as any market- 
 woman of Ronda, knew by the manner of saying 
 it that Sebastian only spoke the truth when he 
 said that he had other offers. 
 
 " See, reverendo," the man went on, leaning 
 across the table, and banging a dirty fist upon it. 
 " Come to-night at ten o'clock. There are others 
 coming at the same hour to buy my letter in the 
 pink envelope. We will have an auction — a little 
 auction, and the letter goes to the highest bidder. 
 But what does your reverence want with a love- 
 letter — eh ? " 
 
 " I will come," said the padre, and turning he 
 went home to count his money once more. 
 
 There are many living still who remember the 
 great gale of wind which was now raging, through 
 which Father Concha struggled back to the Calle 
 Preciados as the city clocks struck ten. Old men 
 and women still tell how the theatres were deserted 
 that night, and the great cafes wrapt in darkness, 
 for none dared venture abroad amid such whirl 
 and confusion. Concha, however, with that lean 
 strength that comes from a life of abstemiousness 
 and low living, crept along in the shadow of 
 houses, and reached his destination unhurt. The 
 tall house in the alley leading from the Calle 
 Preciados to the Plazuela Santa Maria was dark, 
 as, indeed, were most of the streets of Madrid 
 this night. A small moon struggled, however, 
 through the riven clouds at times, and cast streaks
 
 IN MADRID 185 
 
 of lio-ht down the narrow streets. Concha caught 
 sicrht of the form of a man in the alley before him. 
 The priest carried no weapon, but he did not 
 pause. At this moment a gleam of light aided 
 him. 
 
 " Senor Conyngham," he said, " what brings 
 you here ? " 
 
 And the Englishman turned sharply on his heel. 
 
 " Is that you — Father Concha, of Ronda ? " 
 he asked. 
 
 " No other, my son." 
 
 Standing in the doorway Conyngham held out 
 his hand with that air of good-fellowship, which he 
 had not yet lost amid the more formal Spaniards. 
 
 " Hardly the night for respectable elderly gentle- 
 men of your cloth to be in the streets," he said, 
 whereat Concha, who had a keen appreciation of 
 such small pleasantries, laughed grimly. 
 
 " And I have not even the excuse of my cloth. 
 I am abroad on worldly business, and not even my 
 own. I will be honest with you, Senor Conyng- 
 ham. I am here to buy that malediction of a 
 letter in a pink envelope. You remember in the 
 garden at Ronda — eh ? " 
 
 " Yes, I remember ; and why do you want that 
 letter ? " 
 
 " For the sake of Julia Barenna." 
 
 " Ah ! I want it for the sake of Estella Vin- 
 cente." 
 
 Concha laughed shortly.
 
 1 86 IN KEDAR'S TENTS 
 
 " Yes," he said. " It is only up to the age of 
 twenty-five that men imagine themselves to be 
 rulers of the world. But we need not bid against 
 each other, my son. Perhaps a sight of the letter be- 
 fore I destroy it would satisfy the senorita. . . ." 
 
 " No, we need not bid against each other " — 
 began Conyngham, but the priest dragged him 
 back into the doorway with a quick whisper of 
 " Silence ! " 
 
 Some one was coming down the other staircase 
 of the tall house with slow and cautious steps. 
 Conyngham and his companion drew back to the 
 foot of the stairs and waited. It became evident 
 that he who descended the steps did so without a 
 light. At the door he seemed to stop, and was 
 probably making sure that the narrow alley was 
 deserted. A moment later he hurried past the 
 door where the two men stood. The moon was 
 almost clear, and by its light both the watchers 
 recognised Larralde in a flash of thought. The 
 next instant Esteban Larralde was running for his 
 life with Frederick Conyngham on his heels. 
 
 The lamp at the corner of the Calle Preciados 
 had been shattered against the wall by a gust of 
 wind, and both men clattered through a slough of 
 broken glass. Down the whole length of the 
 Preciados but one lamp was left alight, and the 
 narrow street was littered with tiles and fallen 
 bricks, for many chimneys had been blown down, 
 and more than one shutter lay in the roadway,
 
 IN MADRID 187 
 
 torn from its hinges by the hurricane. It was at 
 the risk of life that any ventured abroad at this 
 hour and amid the whirl of falling masonry. Lar- 
 ralde and Conyngham had the Calle Preciados to 
 themselves, and Larralde cursed his spurs, which 
 rang out at each footfall and betrayed his where- 
 abouts. 
 
 A dozen times the Spaniard fell, but before his 
 pursuer could reach him the same obstacle threw 
 Conyngham to the ground. A dozen times some 
 falling object crashed to the earth on the Spaniard's 
 heels, and the Englishman leapt aside to escape 
 the rebound. Larralde was fleet of foot despite 
 his meagre limbs, and leapt over such obstacles as 
 he could perceive with the agility of a monkey. 
 He darted into the lighted doorway, the entrance 
 to the palatial mansion of an upstart politician. 
 The large doors were thrown open, and the hall- 
 porter stood in full livery awaiting the master's 
 carriage. Larralde was already in the patio, and 
 Conyngham ran through the marble-paved entrance- 
 hall before the porter realised what was taking 
 place. There was no second exit, as the fugi- 
 tive had hoped, so it was round the patio and out 
 again into the dark street, leaving the hall-porter 
 dumbfoundered. 
 
 Larralde turned sharply to the right as soon as 
 he gained the Calle Preciados. It was a mere 
 alley running the whole way round a church, and 
 here again was solitude, but not silence, for the
 
 1 88 IN KEDAR'S TENTS 
 
 wind roared among the chimneys overhead as it 
 roars through a ship's rigging at sea. The Calle 
 Preciados again, and a momentary confusion among 
 the tables of a cafe that stood upon the pavement 
 amid upturned chairs and a fallen, flapping awn- 
 ing. The pace was less killing now, but Larralde 
 still held his own, one hand clutched over the 
 precious letter regained at last, and Conyngham 
 was conscious of a sharp pain where the Spaniard's 
 knife had touched his lung. 
 
 Larralde ran mechanically, with open mouth 
 and staring eyes. He never doubted that death 
 was at his heels should he fail to distance the pur- 
 suer, for he had recognised Conyngham in the 
 patio of the great house, and as he ran the vague 
 wonder filled his mind whether the Englishman 
 carried a knife. What manner of death would it 
 be if that long arm reached him ? Esteban Lar- 
 ralde was afraid. His own life, Julia's life, the 
 lives of a whole Carlist section were at stake. 
 The history of Spain, perhaps of Europe, depended 
 on the swiftness of his foot. 
 
 The little crescent moon was shining clearly 
 now between the long-drawn rifts of the rush- 
 ing clouds. Larralde turned to the right again 
 up a narrow street, which seemed to promise a 
 friendly darkness. The ascent was steep, and the 
 Spaniard gasped for breath as he ran ; his legs 
 were becoming numb. He had never been in this 
 street before, and knew not whither it led. But it
 
 IN MADRID 189 
 
 was, at all events, dark and deserted. Suddenly 
 he fell upon a heap of bricks and rubbish — a 
 whole stack of chimneys — he could smell the 
 soot. Conyngham was upon him, touched him, 
 but failed to get a grip. Larralde was afoot in an 
 instant, and fell heavily down the far side of the 
 barricade. He gained a few yards again, and, 
 before Conyngham's eyes, was suddenly swallowed 
 up in a black mass of falling masonry. It was 
 more than a chimney this time, nothing less than 
 a whole house carried bodily to the ground by the 
 fall of the steeple of the church of Sta. Maria del 
 Monte. Conyngham stopped dead, and threw his 
 arms over his head. The crash was terrific, deaf- 
 ening, and for a few moments the Englishman was 
 stunned. He opened his eyes and closed them 
 again, for the dust and powdered mortar whirled 
 round him like smoke. Almost blinded he crept 
 back by the way he had come, and the street was 
 already full of people. In the Calle Preciados he 
 sat down on a door-step, and there waited until he 
 had gained mastery over his limbs, which shook 
 like leaves. Presently he made his way back to 
 the house where he had left Concha. 
 
 The man Sebastian had a week earlier seen and 
 recognised Conyngham as the bearer of the letter 
 addressed to Colonel Monreal, and left at that 
 officer's lodging, in Xeres, at the moment of his 
 death in the streets. Sebastian approached Con- 
 nyngham, and informed him that he had in his
 
 igo IN KEDAR'S TENTS 
 
 possession sundry papers belonging to the late 
 Colonel Monreal, which might be of value to a 
 Royalist. This was, therefore, not the first time 
 that Conyngham had climbed the narrow stairs of 
 the tall house with two doors. 
 
 He found Concha busying himself by the bed- 
 side, where Sebastian lay in the unconsciousness 
 of deep drink. 
 
 " He has probably been drugged," said the 
 priest, " or he may be dying. What is more 
 important to us is that the letter is not here. I 
 have searched. Larralde escaped you ? " 
 
 " Yes ; and, of course, has the letter." 
 
 " Of course, amigo." 
 
 The priest looked at the prostrate man with a 
 face of profound contempt, and shrugging his 
 shoulders, went toward the door. 
 
 " Come," he said ; " I must return to Ronda 
 and Julia. It is thither that this Larralde always 
 returns ; and she, poor woman, believes him. Ah, 
 my friend," — he paused and shook his long finger 
 at Conyngham, — "when a woman believes in a 
 man she makes him or mars him ; there is no 
 medium."
 
 CHAPTER XVIII 
 
 IN TOLEDO 
 
 " Meddle not with many matters, for if thou meddle much 
 thou shalt not be innocent." 
 
 The Cafe of the Ambassadeurs, in the Calle de 
 la Montera, was at this time the fashionable resort 
 of visitors to the city of Madrid. Its tone was 
 neither political nor urban, but savoured rather of 
 the cosmopolitan. The waiters at the first-class 
 hotels recommended the Cafe of the Ambassa- 
 deurs, and stepped round to the manager's offices 
 at the time of the new year to mention the fact. 
 
 Sir John Pleydell had been rather nonplussed by 
 his encounter with Conyngham, and, being a man 
 of the world as well as a lawyer, sat down, as it 
 were, to think. He had come to Spain in the 
 first heat of a great revenge, and such men as he 
 take, like the greater volcanoes, a long time to 
 cool down. He had been prepossessed in the 
 favour of the man who subsequently owned to 
 being Frederick Conyngham, and the very manner 
 in which this admission was made redounded in 
 some degree to the honour of the young English-
 
 i 9 2 IN KEDAR'S TENTS 
 
 man. Here, at least, was one who had no fear, and 
 fearlessness appeals to the heart of every Briton, 
 from the peer to the navvy. 
 
 Sir John took a certain cold interest in his sur- 
 roundings and in due course was recommended to 
 spend an evening at the Cafe des Ambassadeurs, 
 as it styled itself, for the habit of preferring French 
 to Spanish designations for places of refreshment 
 had come in since the great revolution. Sir John 
 went, therefore, to the cafe, and with characteristic 
 scorn of elemental disturbances chose to resort 
 thither on the evening of the great gale. The 
 few other occupants of the gorgeous room eyed his 
 half-bottle of claret with a grave and decorous 
 wonder, but made no attempt to converse with 
 this chill-looking Englishman. At length, about 
 ten o'clock, or a few minutes later, entered one 
 who bowed to Sir John with an air full of affable 
 promise. This was Larralde, who called a waiter 
 and bade him fetch a coat-brush. 
 
 " Would you believe it, sir," he said, addressing 
 Sir John in broken English, "but I have just 
 escaped a terrible death." 
 
 He shrugged his shoulders, spread out his hands, 
 and laughed good-humouredly, after the manner of 
 one who has no foes. 
 
 "The fall of a chimney — so — within a metre 
 of my shoulder." 
 
 He threw back his cloak with a graceful swing 
 of the arm, and handed it to the waiter. Then he
 
 IN TOLEDO 193 
 
 drew forward a chair to the table occupied by Sir 
 John, who sipped his claret and bowed coldly. 
 
 " You must not think that Madrid is always like 
 this," said Larralde. " But perhaps you know the 
 city . . . ?" 
 
 "No; this is my first visit." 
 
 Larralde turned aside to give his order to the 
 waiter. His movements were always picturesque, 
 and in the presence of Englishmen he had a habit 
 of accentuating those characteristics of speech and 
 manner which are held by our countrymen to be 
 native to the Peninsula. There is nothing so 
 disarming as conventionality, and nothing less sus- 
 picious. Larralde seemed to be a typical Spaniard 
 
 — indolently polite, gravely indifferent, a cigarette- 
 smoking nonentity. 
 
 They talked of topics of the day, and chiefly of 
 that great event, the hurricane, which was still 
 raging. Larralde, whose habit it was to turn his 
 neighbour to account — a seed of greatness this ! 
 
 — had almost concluded that the Englishman was 
 useless, when the conversation turned, as it was 
 almost bound to turn between these two, upon 
 Conyngham. 
 
 " There are but few of your countrymen in 
 Madrid at the moment," Larralde had said. 
 
 " I know but one," was the guarded reply. 
 
 " And I also," said Larralde, flicking the ash 
 from his cigarette. " A young fellow who has 
 made himself somewhat notorious in the Royalist 
 
 13
 
 194 IN KEDAR'S TENTS 
 
 cause — a cause in which, I admit, I have no 
 sympathy. His name is Conyngham." 
 
 Then a silence fell upon the two men, and over 
 raised glasses they glanced surreptitiously at each 
 other. 
 
 " I know him ! " said Sir John, at length, and 
 the tone of his voice made Larralde glance up 
 with a sudden gleam in his eyes. There thus 
 sprang into existence between them the closest of 
 all bonds — a common foe. 
 
 " The man has done me more than one ill 
 turn," said Larralde, after a pause, and he drummed 
 on the table with his cigarette-stained fingers. 
 
 Sir John, looking at him coldly, gauged the 
 Spaniard with the deadly skill of his calling. He 
 noted that Larralde was poor and ambitious, quali- 
 ties that often raise the devil in a human heart 
 when fortune brings them there together. He 
 was not deceived by the picturesque manner of 
 Julia's lover, but knew exactly how much was 
 assumed of that air of simple vanity to which 
 Larralde usually treated strangers. He probably 
 gauged, at one glance, the depth of the man's 
 power for good or ill, his sincerity, his possible 
 usefulness. In the hands of Sir John Pleydell 
 Larralde was the merest tool. 
 
 They sat until long after midnight, and before 
 they parted Sir John Pleydell handed to his com- 
 panion a roll of notes, which he counted carefully, 
 and Larralde accepted with a grand air of conde- 
 scension and indifference.
 
 IN TOLEDO 195 
 
 " You know my address," said Sir John, with a 
 slight suggestion of masterfulness, which had not 
 been noticeable before the money changed hands. 
 " I shall remain at the same hotel." 
 
 Larralde nodded his head. 
 
 " I shall remember it," he said ; " and now I go 
 to take a few hours' rest. I have had a hard day, 
 and am as tired as a shepherd's dog." 
 
 And, indeed, the day had been busy enough. 
 Senor Larralde hummed an air between his teeth 
 as he struggled against the fierce wind. 
 
 Before dawn the gale subsided, and daylight 
 broke over the city, where sleep had been almost 
 unknown during the night, with a clear, calm 
 freshness. The sun had not yet risen when Lar- 
 ralde took the road on his poor, thin, black horse. 
 He rode through the streets, still littered with the 
 debris of fallen chimneys, slates, and shutters, with 
 his head up and his mind so full of the great 
 schemes which gave him no rest, that he never 
 saw Concepcion Vara, going to market, with a 
 basket on his arm and a cigarette, unlighted, be- 
 tween his lips. Concepcion turned and watched 
 the horseman, shrugged his shoulders, and quietly 
 followed until the streets were left behind, and 
 there could no longer be any doubt that Larralde 
 was bound for Toledo. 
 
 Thither, indeed, he journeyed throughout the 
 day, with a leisureliness begotten of the desire to 
 enter the ancient city after nightfall only. Toledo
 
 196 IN KEDAR'S TENTS 
 
 was at this time the smouldering hotbed of those 
 political intrigues which, some years later, burst 
 into flame and resulted finally in the expulsion of 
 the Bourbons from the throne of Spain. Larralde 
 was sufficiently dangerous to require watching, 
 and, like many of his kind, considered himself of 
 a greater importance than his enemies were pleased 
 to attach to him. The city of Toledo is, as many 
 know, almost surrounded by the rapid Tagus, and 
 entrance to its narrow confine is only to be gained 
 by two gates. To pass either of these barriers in 
 open day would be to court a publicity singularly 
 undesirable at this time, for Esteban Larralde was 
 slipping down the social slope, which gradual pro- 
 gress is the hardest to arrest. If one is mounting 
 there are plenty to help him — those from above 
 seeking to make unto themselves friends of the 
 mammon of unrighteousness, those from below 
 hoping to tread in the footsteps he may leave. 
 Each step, however, of the upward progress has to 
 be gained at the expense of another; but on the 
 descent there are none to stay and many to push 
 behind, while those in front make room readily 
 enough. Larralde had for the first time accepted 
 a direct monetary reward for his services. That 
 this had been offered and accepted in a polite 
 Spanish manner, as an advance of expenses to be 
 incurred, was, of course, only natural under the 
 circumstances ; but the fact remained that Esteban 
 Larralde was no longer a picturesque conspirator,
 
 IN TOLEDO 
 
 197 
 
 serving a failing cause with that devotion which 
 can only be repaid later by higher honours, and a 
 past carrying with it emoluments of proportionate 
 value. He had, in fact, been paid in advance, 
 which is the surest sign of distrust upon one side 
 or the other. 
 
 The Barennas had been established at their 
 house in Toledo some weeks, and for Julia life 
 had been dull enough. She had hastened North- 
 ward, knowing well that her lover's intrigues must 
 necessarily bring him to the neighbourhood of the 
 capital, perhaps to Toledo itself. Larralde had, 
 however, hitherto failed to come near her, and the 
 news of the day reported an increasing depression 
 in the ranks of the Carlists. Indeed, that cause 
 seemed now at such a low ebb, that the franker 
 mercenaries were daily drifting away to more 
 promising scenes of warfare, while some cynically 
 accepted commissions in the army of Espartero. 
 
 " I always said that Don Carlos would fail if 
 he employed such men . . . as . . . well, as he 
 does," Madame Barenna took more than one 
 opportunity of observing at this time, and her em- 
 phatic fan rapped the personal application home. 
 
 She had just made this remark, for perhaps the 
 sixth time one evening, when the door of the patio, 
 where she and Julia sat, was thrown open, and 
 Larralde, the person indirectly referred to, came 
 toward the ladies. He was not afraid of Madame 
 Barenna, and his tired face lightened visibly at the
 
 198 IN KEDAR'S TENTS 
 
 sight of Julia. Concha was right. According to 
 his lights, Larralde loved Julia. She, who knew 
 every expression, noted the look in his face, and 
 her heart leapt within her breast. She had long 
 secretly rejoiced over the failure of the Carlist 
 cause. Such, messieurs, is the ambition of a 
 woman for the man she really loves. 
 
 Senora Barenna rose and held out her hand with 
 a beaming smile. She was rather bored that even- 
 ing, and it was pleasant to imagine herself in the 
 midst of great political intrigues. 
 
 " We were wondering if you would come," she 
 said. 
 
 a I am here, there, everywhere ; but I always 
 come back to the Casa Barenna," he said gallantly. 
 
 " You look tired," said Julia, quietly. " Where 
 are you from ? " 
 
 " At the moment I am from Madrid. The city 
 has been wrecked by a tornado. I myself almost 
 perished — " 
 
 He paused, shrugged his shoulders. 
 
 " What will you ? " he added carelessly. 
 " What is life, a single life in Spain to-day ? " 
 
 Julia winced. It is marvellous how an intelli- 
 gent woman may blind herself into absolute belief 
 in one man. Senora Barenna shuddered. 
 
 " Blessed Heaven ! " she whispered ; " why 
 does not some one do something ? " 
 
 " One does one's best," answered Larralde, with 
 his hand at his moustache.
 
 IN TOLEDO 199 
 
 " But yes ! " said madame, eagerly. She had a 
 shrewd common sense, as many apparently foolish 
 women have, and probably put the right value on 
 Senor Larralde's endeavours. Father Concha and 
 the general were, however, far away, and all 
 women are time-servers. 
 
 Larralde spoke of general news, and when he at 
 length proposed to Julia that they should take a 
 pasear in the garden, the elder lady made no 
 objection. For some moments Julia was quite 
 happy. She had schooled herself into a sort of 
 contentment, in the hope that her turn would 
 come when ambition failed. Perhaps this moment 
 had arrived. At all events, Larralde acquitted 
 himself well, and seemed sincere enough in his 
 joy at seeing her again. 
 
 " Do you love me ? " he asked suddenly. 
 
 Julia gave a little laugh. Heaven has been 
 opened by such a laugh ere now, and men have 
 seen for a moment the brightness of it. 
 
 u Enough to leave Spain forever and live in an- 
 other country ? " 
 
 "Yes." 
 
 " Enough to risk something now for my 
 sake ? " 
 
 " Enough to risk everything," she answered. 
 
 11 1 have tried to gain a great position for you," 
 went on Larralde, " and fortune has been against 
 me. I have failed. The Carlist cause is dead, 
 Julia. Our chief has failed us; that is the truth
 
 200 IN KEDAR'S TENTS 
 
 of it. We set him up as a king, but — but unless 
 we hold him upright he falls. He is a man of 
 straw. We are making one last effort, as you 
 know ; but it is a dangerous one, and we have had 
 misfortunes. This pestilential Englishman ! No 
 one may say how much he knows. He has had 
 the letter too long in his possession for our safety. 
 But I have outwitted him this time." 
 
 Larralde paused and drew from his pocket the 
 letter in the pink envelope, somewhat soiled by its 
 passage through the hands of Colonel Monreal's 
 servant. 
 
 " It requires two more signatures, and will then 
 be complete," said the upholder of Don Carlos. 
 " We shall then make our coup. But we cannot 
 move while Conyngham remains in Spain. It 
 would never do for me to . . . well, to get shot 
 at this moment . . ." 
 
 Julia breathed hard. 
 
 ". . . And that is what Mr. Conyngham is en- 
 deavouring to bring about. In the first place, he 
 wants this letter to show to Estella Vincente — 
 some foolish romance. In the second place, he 
 hates me and seeks promotion in the Royalist 
 ranks. These Englishmen are unscrupulous. He 
 tried to take my life only last night. I bear him 
 no ill-feeling. A la guerre comme a la guerre. My 
 only intention is to get him quietly out of Spain. 
 It can be managed easily enough. Will you help 
 me, to save my own life ? "
 
 IN TOLEDO 201 
 
 " Yes," answered Julia. 
 
 u I want you to write a letter to Conyngham, 
 saying that you are tired of political intrigue." 
 
 " Heaven knows that would be true enough ! " 
 put in Julia. 
 
 " And that you will give him the letter he 
 desires, on the condition that he promises to show 
 it to no one but Estella Vincente and return it to 
 you. That you will also swear that it is the iden- 
 tical letter that he handed to you in the general's 
 garden at Ronda. If Conyngham agrees, he must 
 meet you at the back of the Church of Santa 
 Tome, in the Calle Pedro Martir here, in Toledo, 
 next Monday evening at seven o'clock. Will you 
 write this letter, Julia ? " 
 
 " And Estella Vincente ? " inquired Julia. 
 
 " She will forget him in a week," laughed 
 Larralde.
 
 CHAPTER XIX 
 
 CONCEPCION TAKES THE ROAD 
 
 "Who knows? The man is proven by the hour." 
 
 After the great storm came a calm almost as 
 startling. It seemed, indeed, as if Nature stood 
 abashed and silent before the results of her sudden 
 rage. Day after day the sun glared down from a 
 cloudless sky, and all Castile was burnt brown as 
 a desert. In the streets of Madrid there arose a 
 hot dust, and that subtle odour of warm earth that 
 rarely meets the nostrils in England. It savoured 
 of India and other sun-steeped lands, where water 
 is too precious to throw upon the roads. 
 
 Those who could remained indoors or in their 
 shady patios until the heat of the day was past, and 
 such as worked in the open lay unchallenged in the 
 shade from midday till three o'clock. During 
 those days military operations were almost sus- 
 pended, although the heads of departments were 
 busy enough in their offices. The confusion of 
 war, it seemed, was past, and the sore-needed peace 
 was immediately turned to good account. The 
 army of the Queen Regent was, indeed, in an 
 almost wrecked condition, and among the field
 
 CONCEPCION TAKES THE ROAD 203 
 
 officers jealousy and backbiting, which had smoul- 
 dered through the war-time, broke out openly. 
 General Vincente was rarely at home, and Estella 
 passed this time in quiet seclusion. Coming as 
 she did from Andalusia, she was accustomed to an 
 even greater heat, and knew how to avoid the 
 discomfort of it. 
 
 She was sitting one afternoon with open windows 
 and closed jalousies, during the time of the siesta, 
 when the servant announced Father Concha. 
 
 The old priest came into the room wiping his 
 brow with simple ill-manners. 
 
 u You have been hurrying, and have no regard 
 for the sun," said Estella. 
 
 " You need not find shelter for an old ox," 
 replied Concha, seating himself. " It is the young 
 ones that expose themselves unnecessarily." 
 
 Estella glanced at him sharply, but said nothing. 
 He sat, handkerchief in hand, and stared at a shaft 
 of sunlight that lay across the floor from a gap in 
 the jalousies. From the street under the windows 
 came the distant sounds of traffic and the cries of 
 the vendors of water, fruit, and newspapers. 
 
 Father Concha looked puzzled, and seemed to 
 be seeking his way out of a difficulty. Estella sat 
 back in her chair, half hidden by her slow-waving 
 black fan. There is no pride so difficult as that 
 which is unconscious of its own existence, no 
 heart so hard to touch as that wh ; ch throws its 
 stake and asks neither sympathy nor admiration
 
 204 IN KEDAR'S TENTS 
 
 from the outside world. Concha glanced at Estella, 
 and wondered if he had been mistaken. There 
 was in the old man's heart, as, indeed, there is in 
 nearly all human hearts, a thwarted instinct. How 
 many are there with paternal instincts who have 
 no children, how many a poet has been lost by 
 the crying needs of hungry mouths. It was a 
 thwarted instinct that made the old priest busy 
 himself with the affairs of other people, and always 
 of young people. 
 
 " I came hoping to see your father," he said at 
 length, blandly untruthful. " I have just seen 
 Conyngham, in whom we are all interested, I 
 think. His lack of caution is singular. I have 
 been trying to persuade him not to do something 
 most rash and imprudent. You remember the 
 incident in your garden at Ronda — a letter which 
 he gave to Julia ? " 
 
 "Yes," answered Estella, quietly ; "I remember." 
 
 " For some reason, which he did not explain, 
 I understand that he is desirous of regaining pos- 
 session of that letter, and now Julia, writing from 
 Toledo, tells him that she will give it to him if he 
 will go there and fetch it. The Toledo road, as 
 you will remember, is hardly to be recommended 
 to Mr. Conyngham." 
 
 " But Julia wishes him no harm," said Estella. 
 
 " My child, rarely trust a political man and 
 never a political woman. If Julia wished him to 
 have the letter, she could have sent it to him by
 
 CONCEPCION TAKES THE ROAD 205 
 
 post. But Conyngham, who is all eagerness, must 
 needs refuse to listen to my argument, and starts 
 this afternoon for Toledo — alone. He has not 
 even his servant, Concepcion Vara, who has sud- 
 denly disappeared, and a woman, who claims to 
 be the scoundrel's wife, from Algeciras, has been 
 making inquiries at Conyngham's lodging. A 
 hen's eyes are where her eggs lie. I offered to 
 go to Toledo with Conyngham, but he laughed at 
 me for a useless old priest, and said that the saddle 
 would gall me." 
 
 He paused, looking at her beneath his shaggy 
 brows, knowing, as he had always known, that 
 this was a woman beyond his reach — cleverer, 
 braver, of a higher mind than her sisters — one to 
 whom he might perchance tender some small assis- 
 tance, but nothing better; for women are wiser 
 in their generation than men, and usually know 
 better what is for their own happiness. Estella 
 returned his glance with steady eyes. 
 
 " He has gone," said Concha. " I have not 
 been sent to tell you that he is going." 
 
 " I did not think that you had," she answered. 
 
 " Conyngham has enemies in this country," 
 continued the priest, " and despises them, a mis- 
 take to which his countrymen are singularly liable. 
 He has gone off on this foolish quest without prep- 
 aration or precaution. Toledo is, as you know, 
 a hotbed of intrigue and dissatisfaction. All the 
 malcontents in Spain congregate there, and Conyng-
 
 206 IN KEDAR'S TENTS 
 
 ham would do well to avoid their company. Who 
 lies down with dogs gets up with fleas." 
 
 He paused, tapping his snufF-box, and at that 
 moment the door opened to admit General Vincente. 
 
 " Oh, the padre ! " cried that cheerful soldier. 
 " But what a sun — eh ? It is cool here, however, 
 and Estella's room is always a quiet one." 
 
 He touched her cheek affectionately, and drew 
 forward a low chair, wherein he sat, carefully dis- 
 posing of the sword that always seemed too large 
 for him. 
 
 " And what news has the padre ? " he asked, 
 daintily touching his brow with his folded pocket- 
 handkerchief. 
 
 " Bad ! " growled Concha, and then told his 
 tale over again in a briefer, blunter manner. " It 
 all arises," he concluded, " from my pestilential 
 habit of interfering in the affairs of other people." 
 
 " No," said General Vincente ; " it arises from 
 Conyngham's pestilential habit of acquiring friends 
 wherever he goes." 
 
 The door was opened again and a servant 
 entered. 
 
 " Excellency," he said, " a man called Concep- 
 cion Vara, who desires a moment." 
 
 " What did I tell you ? " said the general to 
 Concha. " Another of Conyngham's friends. 
 Spain is full of them. Let Concepcion Vara come 
 to this room." 
 
 The servant looked slightly surprised and retired.
 
 CONCEPCION TAKES THE ROAD 207 
 
 If, however, this manner of reception was unusual, 
 Concepcion was too finished a man of the world to 
 betray either surprise or embarrassment. By good 
 fortune he happened to be wearing a coat. His 
 flowing, unstarched shirt was, as usual, spotless ; 
 he wore a flower in the ribbon of the hat carried 
 jauntily in his hand, and about his person, in the 
 form of handkerchief and faja, were those touches 
 of bright colour, by means of which he so irresistibly 
 attracted the eye of the fair. 
 
 " Excellency ! " he murmured, bowing on the 
 threshold. " Reverendo ! " with one step forward 
 and a respectful semi-religious inclination of the 
 head toward Concha. " Senorita ! " The cere- 
 mony here concluded with a profound obeisance to 
 Estella, full of gallantry and grave admiration. 
 Then he stood upright, and indicated by a pleasant 
 smile that no one need feel embarrassed — that, 
 in fact, this meeting was most opportune. 
 
 " A matter of urgency, excellency," he said 
 confidentially to Vincente. "I have reason to 
 suspect that one of my friends — in fact, the 
 Senor Conyngham, with whom I am at the moment 
 in service — happens to be in danger." 
 
 " Ah ! What makes you suspect that, my 
 friend ? " 
 
 Concepcion waved his hand airily, as if indicat- 
 ing that the news had been brought to him by the 
 birds of the air. 
 
 " When one goes into the cafe," he said, " one
 
 208 IN KEDAR'S TENTS 
 
 is not always so particular, one associates with 
 those who happen to be there — muleteers, diligen- 
 cia-drivers, bull-fighters, all and sundry, even 
 c on trabandistas.' ' 
 
 He made this last admission with a face full 
 of pious toleration, and Father Concha laughed 
 grimly. 
 
 " That is true, my friend," said the general, 
 hastening to cover the priest's little lapse of good 
 manners. " And from these gentlemen, honest 
 enough in their way, no doubt, you have learnt — " 
 
 " That the Sefior Conyngham has enemies in 
 Spain." 
 
 u So I understand ; but he has also friends." 
 
 " He has one," said Vara, taking up a fine 
 picturesque attitude, with his left hand at his waist, 
 where the deadly knife was concealed in the rolls 
 of his faj a. 
 
 " Then he is fortunate," said the general, with 
 his most winning smile. " Why do you come to 
 me, my friend ? " 
 
 " I require two men," answered Concepcion, 
 airily. "That is all." 
 
 " Ah ! What sort of men — guardia civile ? " 
 
 " The holy saints forbid ! Honest soldiers, if it 
 please your excellency. The guardia civile^ see 
 you, excellency — " 
 
 He paused, shaking his outspread hand from 
 side to side, palm downward, fingers apart, as if 
 describing a low level of humanity.
 
 CONCEPCION TAKES THE ROAD 209 
 
 " A brutal set of men," he continued, " with the 
 finger ever on the trigger and the rifle ever loaded. 
 Pam! and a life is taken — many of my friends — at 
 least, many persons I have met ... in the cafe." 
 
 " It is better to give him his two men," put in 
 Father Concha, in his atrocious English, speaking 
 to the general. " The man is honest in his love 
 of Conyngham, if in nothing else." 
 
 " And if I accord you these two men, my friend," 
 said the general, from whose face Estella's eyes 
 had never moved, " will you undertake that Mr- 
 Conyngham comes to no harm ? " 
 
 " I will arrange it," replied Concepcion, with an 
 easy shrug of the shoulders — "I will arrange it, 
 never fear." 
 
 " You shall have two men," said General Vin- 
 cente, drawing a writing case toward himself and 
 proceeding to write the necessary order — "men 
 who are known to me personally. You can rely 
 upon them at all times — " 
 
 " Since they are friends of his excellency's," in- 
 terrupted Concepcion, with much condescension, 
 " that suffices." 
 
 " He will require money," said Estella, in Eng- 
 lish, her eyes bright and her cheeks flushed ; for 
 she came of a fighting race, and her repose of 
 manner, the dignity which sat rather strangely 
 on her slim young shoulders, were only signs or 
 that self-control which had been handed down 
 to her through the ages. 
 
 14
 
 210 IN KEDAR'S TENTS 
 
 The general nodded as he wrote. 
 " Take that to headquarters," he said, handing 
 the papers to Concepcion, " and in less than half 
 an hour your men will be ready. Mr. Conyng- 
 ham is a friend of mine, as you know, and any 
 expenses incurred on his behalf will be defrayed 
 by myself." 
 
 Concepcion held up his hand. 
 
 " It is unnecessary, excellency," he said. " At 
 present Mr. Conyngham has funds. Only yester- 
 day he gave me money. He liquidated my little 
 account. It has always been a jest between us, 
 that little account." 
 
 He laughed pleasantly and moved toward the door. 
 
 " Vara," said Father Concha. 
 
 " Yes, reverendo." 
 
 " If I meet your wife in Madrid, what shall I 
 say to her ? " 
 
 Concepcion turned and looked into the smiling 
 face of the old priest. 
 
 « In Madrid, reverendo ? How can you think 
 of such a thing ? My wife lives in Algeciras, and 
 at times, see you . . ." he stopped, casting his 
 eyes up to the ceiling and fetching an exaggerated 
 sigh — « at times my heart aches. But now I must 
 get to the saddle. What a thing is duty, reverendo 
 — duty ! God be with your excellencies." 
 
 And he hurried out of the room. 
 
 " If you would make a thief honest, trust him," 
 said Concha, when the door was closed.
 
 CONCEPCION TAKES THE ROAD 211 
 
 In less than an hour Concepcion was on the 
 road, accompanied by two troopers, who were 
 ready enough to travel in company with a man of 
 his reputation, for in Spain, if one cannot be a bull- 
 fighter, it is good to be a smuggler. At sunset the 
 great heat culminated in a thunderstorm, which 
 drew a veil of heavy cloud across the sky, and 
 night fell before its time. 
 
 The horsemen had covered two thirds of their 
 journey, when he whom they followed came in 
 sight of the lights of Toledo, set upon a rock, like 
 the jewels in a lady's cluster ring, and almost sur- 
 rounded by the swift Tagus. Conyngham's horse 
 was tired, and stumbled more than once on the 
 hill by which the traveller descends to the great 
 bridge and the gate that Wamba built thirteen 
 hundred years ago. 
 
 Through this gate he passed into the city, which 
 was a city of the dead, with its hundred ruined 
 churches, its empty palaces, and silent streets. 
 Ichabod is written large over all these tokens of 
 a bygone glory — where the Jews, flying from 
 Jerusalem, first set foot ; where the Moor reigned 
 unmolested for nearly four hundred years ; where 
 the Goth and the Roman and the great Spaniard 
 of the middle ages have trod on each other's heels. 
 Truly, these worn stones have seen the greatness 
 of the greatest nations of the world. 
 
 A single lamp hung slowly swinging in the arch 
 of Wamba's Gate, and the streets were but ill-
 
 212 IN KEDAR'S TENTS 
 
 lighted with an oil lantern at an occasional corner. 
 Conyngham had been in Toledo before, and knew 
 his way to the inn under the shadow of the great 
 Alcazar, now burnt and ruined. Here he left his 
 horse, for the streets of Toledo are so narrow and 
 tortuous, so ill-paven and steep, that wheel traffic is 
 almost unknown, while a horse can with difficulty 
 keep his feet on the rounded cobble-stones. In this 
 city men go about their business on foot, which 
 makes the streets as silent as the deserted houses. 
 
 Julia had selected a spot which was easy enough 
 to find, and Conyngham, having supped, made his 
 way thither, without asking for directions. 
 
 " It is, at all events, worth trying," he said to him- 
 self; "and she can scarcely have forgotten that I 
 saved her life on the Garonne, as well as at Ronda." 
 
 But there is often in a woman's life one man 
 who can make her forget all. The streets were 
 deserted, for it was a cold night, and the cafes 
 were carefully closed against the damp air. No 
 one stirred in the Calle Pedro Martir, and Con- 
 yngham peered into the shadow of the high wall 
 of the Church of Santa Tome in vain. Then he 
 heard the soft tread of muffled feet, and turning 
 on his heel charged to meet the charge of his two 
 assailants. Two of them went down like felled 
 trees, but there were others — four others — who 
 fell on him silently, like hounds upon a fox, and in 
 a few moments all was quiet again in the Calle 
 Pedro Martir.
 
 CHAPTER XX 
 
 ON THE TALAVERA ROAD 
 
 " Les barrieres servent a indiquer oil il faut passer." 
 
 An hour's ride to the west of Toledo, on the road 
 to Torrijos and Talavera, and in the immediate 
 neighbourhood of the villages of Galvez, two men 
 sat in the shadow of a great rock and played 
 cards. They played quietly and without vocifera- 
 tion, illustrating the advantages of a minute coinage. 
 They had gambled with varying fortune since the 
 hour of the siesta, and a sprinkling of cigarette- 
 ends on the bare rocks around them testified to the 
 indulgence of a kindred vice. 
 
 The elder of the two men glanced from time to 
 time over his shoulder, and down toward the dusty 
 high road, which lay across the arid plain beneath 
 them like a tape. The country here is barren 
 and stone-ridden, but to the west, where Torrijos 
 gleamed on the plain, the earth was green with 
 the bush corn and heavy blades of the maize now 
 springing into ear. Where these two soldiers sat 
 the herbage was scant and of an aromatic scent, as 
 it mostly is in hot countries and in rocky places. 
 That these men belonged to a mounted branch of
 
 2i4 IN KEDAR'S TENTS 
 
 the service was evident from their equipment, and 
 notably from the great rusty spurs at their heels. 
 They were clad in cotton — dusty white breeches, 
 dusty blue tunics — a sort of undress tempered by 
 the vicissitudes of a long war and the laxity of dis- 
 cipline engendered by political trouble at home. 
 
 They had left their horses in the stable of a 
 venta, hidden among ilex-trees by the roadside, and 
 had clambered to this point of vantage above the 
 highway to pass the afternoon after the manner of 
 their race, for the Spaniard will be found playing 
 cards amid the wreck of the world and in the 
 intervals between the stupendous events of the 
 last day. 
 
 " He comes," said the older man at length, as he 
 leisurely shuffled the greasy cards ; " I hear his 
 horse's feet." 
 
 And, indeed, the great silence which seems to 
 brood over the uplands of Spain — the silence, as 
 it were, of an historic past and a dead present — 
 was broken by the distant regular beat of hoofs. 
 
 The trooper who had spoken was a bullet- 
 headed Castilian, with square jaws and close-set eyes. 
 His companion, a younger man, merely nodded his 
 head, and studied the cards which had just been 
 dealt to him. The game progressed, and Concep- 
 cion Vara, on the Toledo road, approached at a 
 steady trot. This man showed to greater advan- 
 tage on horseback and beneath God's open sky 
 than in the streets of a city. Here, on the open
 
 ON THE TALAVERA ROAD 215 
 
 and among the mountains, he held his head erect 
 and faced the world, ready to hold his own against 
 it. In the streets he wore a furtive air, and 
 glanced from left to right, fearing recognition. 
 
 He now took his tired horse to the stable of 
 the little venta, where, with his usual gallantry, he 
 assisted a hideous old hag to find a place in the 
 stalls. While uttering a gay compliment he deftly 
 secured for his mount a feed of corn which was 
 much in excess of that usually provided for the 
 money. 
 
 " Ah ! " he said, as he tipped the measure, " I 
 can always tell when a woman has been pretty ; 
 but with you, seiiora, no such knowledge is 
 required. You will have your beauty for many 
 years yet." 
 
 Thus Vara and his horse fared ever well upon 
 the road. He lingered at the stable-door, know- 
 ing that corn poured into the manger may yet find 
 its way back to the bin, and then turned his steps 
 toward the mountain. 
 
 The cards were still falling with a whispering 
 sound upon the rock selected as a table, and with 
 the spirit of a true sportsman Concepcion waited 
 until the hand was played out before imparting 
 his news. 
 
 " It is well," he said at length. " A carriage 
 has been ordered from a friend of mine in Toledo 
 to take the road to-night to Talavera, and Talavera 
 is on the way to Lisbon. What did I tell you ? "
 
 2i6 IN KEDAR'S TENTS 
 
 The two soldiers nodded. One was counting 
 his gains, which amounted to almost threepence. 
 The loser wore a brave air of indifference, as 
 behooved a reckless soldier, taking loss or gain 
 in a Spartan spirit. 
 
 " There will be six men," continued Concep- 
 cion — " two on horseback, two on the box, two 
 inside the carriage with their prisoner, my friend." 
 
 " Ah ! " said the younger soldier, thoughtfully. 
 
 Concepcion looked at him. 
 
 " What have you in your mind ? " he asked. 
 
 " I was wondering how three men could best 
 kill six." 
 
 " Out of six," said the older man, " there is 
 always one who runs away. I have found it so 
 in my experience." 
 
 " And of five there is always one who cannot 
 use his knife," added Concepcion. 
 
 Still the younger soldier, who had medals all 
 across his chest, shook his head. 
 
 " I am afraid," he said — "I am always afraid 
 before I fight." 
 
 Concepcion looked at the man whom General 
 Vincente had selected from a brigade of tried 
 soldiers, and gave a little upward jerk of the 
 head. 
 
 " With me," he said, " it is afterward, when 
 all is over. Then my hand shakes and the wet 
 trickles down my face." 
 
 He laughed and spread out his hands.
 
 ON THE TALAVERA ROAD 217 
 
 " And yet," he said gaily, " it is the best game 
 of all ; is it not so ? " 
 
 The troopers shrugged their shoulders. One 
 may have too much of even the best game. 
 
 " The carriage is ordered for eight o'clock," 
 continued the practical Concepcion, rolling a cig- 
 arette, which he placed behind his ear, where a 
 clerk would carry his pen. " Those who take the 
 road when the night birds come abroad have some- 
 thing to hide. We will see what they have in 
 their carriage — eh? The horses are tired for 
 the journey to Galvez, where a relay is doubtless 
 ordered. It will be a fine night for a journey. 
 There is a half moon, which is better than the 
 full for those who use the knife; but the Galvez 
 horses will not be required, I think." 
 
 The younger soldier, upon whose shoulder 
 gleamed the stars of a rapid promotion, looked up 
 to the sky, where a few fleecy clouds were begin- 
 ning to gather above the setting sun, like sheep 
 about a gate. 
 
 " A half moon for the knife and a full moon for 
 firearms," he said. 
 
 " Yes ; and they will shoot quick enough if we 
 give them the chance," said Concepcion. " They 
 are Carlists ! There is a river between this and 
 Galvez, a little stream, such as we have in Anda- 
 lusia, so small that there is only a ford and no 
 bridge. The bed of the river is soft. The horses 
 will stop, or, at all events, must go at the walking
 
 218 IN KEDAR'S TENTS 
 
 pace. Across the stream are a few trees . . ." 
 he paused, illustrating his description with rapid 
 gestures and an imaginary diagram drawn upon 
 the rock with the forefinger ..." ilex, and here, 
 to the left, some pines. The stream runs thus 
 from northeast to southwest. This bank is high, 
 and over here are low-lying meadows, where pigs 
 feed." 
 
 He looked up, and the two soldiers nodded. 
 The position lay before them like a bird's eye 
 view, and Concepcion, in whom Spain had perhaps 
 lost a guerilla general, had only set eyes on the 
 spot once as he rode past it. 
 
 " This matter is best settled on foot ; is it not 
 so ? We cross the stream and tie our horses to 
 the pine-trees. I will recross the water, and come 
 back to meet the carriage at the top of the hill — 
 here. The horsemen will be in advance. We 
 will allow them to cross the stream. The horses 
 will come out of the water slowly, or I know noth- 
 ing of horses. As they step up the incline you 
 take them, and remember to give them the chance 
 of running away. In midstream I will attack the 
 two on the box, pulling him who is not driving 
 into the water by his legs, and giving him the 
 blade in the right shoulder above the lung. He 
 will think himself dead, but should recover. Then 
 you must join me. We shall be three to three, 
 unless the Englishman's hands are loose, then we 
 shall be four to three, and need do no man any
 
 ON THE TALAVERA ROAD 219 
 
 injury. The Englishman is as strong as two, and 
 quick with it as big men rarely are." 
 
 " Do you take a hand ? " asked the Castilian, 
 fingering the cards. 
 
 " No ; I have affairs. Continue your game." 
 
 So the sun went down, and the two soldiers con- 
 tinued their game, while Concepcion sat beside 
 them and slowly, lovingly sharpened his knife on 
 a piece of slate, which he carried in his pocket for 
 the purpose. 
 
 After sunset there usually arises a cold breeze, 
 which blows across the tablelands of Castile quite 
 gently and unobtrusively. A local proverb says 
 of this wind that it will extinguish a man, but not 
 a candle. When this arose the three men de- 
 scended the mountain-side, and sat down to a sim- 
 ple, if highly flavoured meal, provided by the 
 ancient mistress of the venta. At half-past eight, 
 when there remained nothing of the day but a 
 faint, greenish light in the western sky, the little 
 party mounted their horses and rode away toward 
 Galvez. 
 
 " It 's better," said Concepcion, with a meaning 
 and gallant bow to the hostess — - " it 's for my 
 peace of mind. I am but a man." 
 
 Then he haggled over the price of the supper. 
 
 They rode forward to the ford described by 
 Concepcion, and there made their preparations 
 carefully and coolly, as men recognising the odds 
 against them. The half moon was just rising as
 
 220 IN KEDAR'S TENTS 
 
 the soldiers plashed through the water, leading 
 Concepcion's horse, he remaining on the Toledo 
 side of the river. 
 
 " The saints protect us ! " said the nervous 
 soldier, and his hand shook on the bridle. His 
 companion smiled at the recollection of former 
 fights passed through together. It is well, in love 
 and war, to beware of him who is afraid. 
 
 Shortly after nine o'clock the silence of that 
 deserted plain was broken by a distant murmur, 
 which presently shaped itself into the beat of 
 horses' feet. To this was added soon the rumble 
 of wheels. The elder soldier put a whole cigar- 
 ette into his mouth and chewed it ; the younger 
 man made no movement now. They crouched 
 low at their posts, one on each side of the ford. 
 Concepcion was across the river, but they could 
 not see him. In Andalusia they say that a con- 
 trabandist can conceal himself behind half a brick. 
 
 The two riders were well in front of the car- 
 riage, and, as had been foreseen, the horses lin- 
 gered on the rise of the bank, as if reluctant to 
 leave the water without having tasted it. In a 
 moment the younger soldier had his man out of 
 the saddle, raising his own knee sharply as the man 
 fell, so that the falling head and the lifted knee 
 came into deadly contact. It was a trick well 
 known to the trooper, who let the insensible form 
 roll to the ground, and immediately darted down 
 the bank to the stream. The other soldier was
 
 ON THE TALAVERA ROAD 221 
 
 chasing his opponent up the hill, shelling him as 
 he rode away with oaths and stones prepared for 
 the mending of the road. 
 
 In mid-stream the clumsy travelling carriage 
 had come to a standstill. The driver on the box, 
 having cast down his reins, was engaged in implor- 
 ing the assistance of a black-letter saint, upon 
 which assistance he did not hesitate to put a price 
 in candles. There was a scurrying in the water, 
 which was about two feet deep, where Concepcion 
 was settling accounts with the man who had been 
 seated by the driver's side. A half-choked scream 
 of pain appeared to indicate that Concepcion had 
 found the spot he sought, above the right lung, 
 and that amiable smuggler now rose dripping from 
 the flood and hurried to the carriage. 
 
 " Conyngham ! " he shouted, laying aside that 
 ceremony upon which he never set great store. 
 
 " Yes," answered a voice from within. " Is 
 that you, Concepcion ? " 
 
 "Of course; throw them out." 
 
 " But the door is locked," answered Conyngham, 
 in a muffled voice, and the carriage began to rock 
 and crack upon its springs as if an earthquake 
 were taking place inside it. 
 
 "The window is good enough for such rub- 
 bish," said Concepcion. As he spoke a man, 
 violently propelled from within, came head fore- 
 most, and most blasphemously vociferous into 
 Concepcion's arms, who immediately and with the
 
 222 IN KEDAR'S TENTS 
 
 rapidity of a terrier had him by the throat and 
 forced him under water. 
 
 "You have hold of my leg — you on the other 
 side ! " shouted Conyngham, from the turmoil 
 within. 
 
 " A thousand pardons, senor ! " said the soldier, 
 and took a new grip of another limb. 
 
 Concepcion, holding his man under water, heard 
 the sharp crack of another head upon the soldier's 
 knee-cap, and knew that all was well. 
 
 " That is all ? " he inquired. 
 
 " That is all," replied the soldier, who did not 
 seem at all nervous now ; " and we have killed no 
 one." 
 
 " Put a knife into that son of a mule who prays 
 upon the box there," said Concepcion, judicially. 
 "This is no time for prayer — just where the 
 neck joins the shoulder — that is a good place." 
 
 And a sudden silence reigned upon the box. 
 
 " Pull the carriage to the bank ! " commanded 
 Concepcion. " There is no need for the English 
 excellency to wet his feet ; he might catch a 
 cold." 
 
 They all made their way to the bank, where, 
 in the dim moonlight, one man sat. nursing his 
 shoulder, while another lay, at length, quite still, 
 upon the pebbles. The young soldier laid a 
 second victim to the same deadly trick beside him, 
 while Concepcion patted his foe kindly on the 
 back.
 
 ON THE TALAVERA ROAD 223 
 
 "It is well," he said, "you have swallowed 
 water. You will be sick, and then you will be 
 well. But if you move from that spot I will let 
 the water out another way." 
 
 And laughing pleasantly at this delicate display 
 of humour, he turned to help Conyngham, who 
 was clambering out of the carriage window. 
 
 " My hands are tied," said the Englishman. 
 " Where is your knife ? " 
 
 The operation took some little time, though 
 Concepcion's hand was steady enough, for the 
 straps were thick and the light of the moon but 
 feeble. 
 
 " Whom have you with you ? " asked Conyng- 
 ham. 
 
 " Two honest soldiers of General Vincente's 
 division. You see, senor, you have good friends." 
 
 " Yes, I see that." 
 
 " One of them," said Concepcion, meaningly, 
 " is at Toledo at the moment journeying after 
 you." 
 
 « Ah ! " 
 
 " The Senor Pleydell." 
 
 " Then we will go back to meet him." 
 
 " I thought so," said Concepcion.
 
 CHAPTER XXI 
 
 A CROSS-EXAMINATION 
 " Wherein I am false I am honest, not true to be true." 
 
 " 1 will sing you a contrabandhta song," said 
 Concepcion, as the party rode toward Toledo in 
 the moonlight. "The song we — they sing when 
 the venture has been successful. You may hear 
 it any dark night in the streets of Gaucin." 
 
 " Sing," said the older soldier, " if it is in your 
 lungs ; for us, we prefer to travel silent." 
 
 Conyngham, mounted on the horse from which 
 the Carlist rider had been dragged unceremoniously 
 enough, rode a few paces in front. The carriage 
 had been left behind at the venta^ where no ques- 
 tions were asked and the injured men received 
 readily enough. 
 
 " It is well," answered Concepcion, in no way 
 abashed. " I will sing. In Andalusia we can all 
 sing. The pigs sing better there than the men of 
 Castile." 
 
 It was after midnight when the party rode past 
 the church of the Cristo de la Vega, and faced the 
 long hill that leads to the gate Del Cambron. 
 Above them towered the city of Toledo, silent and 
 dream-like. Concepcion had ceased singing now,
 
 A CROSS-EXAMINATION 225 
 
 and the hard breathing of the horses alone broke 
 the silence. The Tagus, emerging here from 
 rocky fastness, flowed noiselessly away to the west, 
 a gleaming ribbon laid across the breast of the 
 night. In the summer it is no uncommon thing 
 for travellers to take the road by night in Spain, 
 and although many doubtless heard the clatter of 
 horses' feet on the polished cobble-stones of the 
 city, none rose from bed to watch the horsemen 
 pass. 
 
 At that time Toledo possessed, and, indeed, to 
 the present day can boast of but one good inn, a 
 picturesque old house in the Plaza de Zocodover, 
 overhung by the mighty Alcazar. Here Cer- 
 vantes must have eaten and Lazarillo de Tormes, 
 no doubt, caroused. Here those melancholy men 
 and mighty humourists must have delighted the 
 idler by their talk. Concepcion soon aroused the 
 sleepy porter, and the great doors being thrown 
 open, the party passed into the courtyard without 
 quitting the saddle. 
 
 " It is," said Concepcion, " an English excel- 
 lency and his suite." 
 
 u We have another such in the house," an- 
 swered the sleepy doorkeeper, " though he travels 
 with but one servant." 
 
 " We know that, my friend, which is the reason 
 why we patronised your dog-hole of an inn. See 
 that the two excellencies breakfast together at a 
 table apart in the morning." 
 
 *5
 
 226 IN KEDAR'S TENTS 
 
 " You will have matters to speak about with the 
 Senor Pleydell in the morning ? " said Concepcion, 
 as he unpacked Conyngham's luggage a few 
 minutes later. 
 
 " Yes ; I should like to speak to Senor Pleydell." 
 
 " And I," said Concepcion, turning round with 
 a brush in his hand, " should like a moment's con- 
 versation with Senor Larralde." 
 
 « Ah ! " 
 
 " Yes, excellency ; he is in this matter, too. 
 But the Senor Larralde is so modest — so modest! 
 He always remains in the background." 
 
 In the tents of Kedar men sleep as sound as 
 those who lie on soft pillows, and Conyngham was 
 late astir the next morning. Sir John Pleydell 
 was, it transpired, already at his breakfast, and had 
 ordered his carriage for an early hour to take the 
 road to Talavera. It was thus evident that Sir 
 John knew nothing of the arrival of his fellow- 
 countryman at midnight. 
 
 The cold face of the great lawyer wore a look 
 of satisfaction as he sat at a small table in the patio 
 of the hotel and drank his coffee. Conyngham 
 watched him for a moment from the balcony of 
 the courtyard, himself unseen, while Concepcion 
 stood within his master's bedroom and rubbed his 
 brown hands together in anticipation of a dramatic 
 moment. Conyngham passed down the stone 
 steps and crossed the patio with a gay smile. Sir 
 John recognised him as he emerged from the dark-
 
 A CROSS-EXAMINATION 227 
 
 ness of the. stairway, but his face betrayed neither 
 surprise nor fear. There was a look in the gray 
 eyes, however, that seemed to betoken doubt. 
 Such a look a man might wear who had long trav- 
 elled with assurance upon a road which he took 
 to be the right one, and then at a turning found 
 himself in a strange country with no landmark to 
 guide him. 
 
 Sir John Pleydell had always outwitted his 
 fellows; he had, in fact, been what is called a 
 successful man — a little cleverer, a little more 
 cunning than those around him. 
 
 He looked up now at Conyngham, who was 
 drawing forward a chair to the neighbouring table, 
 and the cold eye, which had been the dread of 
 many a criminal, wavered. 
 
 " The waiter has set my breakfast near to yours," 
 said Conyngham, unconcernedly seating himself. 
 
 And Concepcion, in the balcony above, cursed 
 the English for a cold-blooded race. This was 
 not the sort of meeting he had anticipated. He 
 could throw a knife very prettily, and gave a short 
 sigh of regret as he turned to his peaceful duties. 
 
 Conyngham examined the simple fare provided 
 for him, and then looked toward his companion 
 with that cheerfulness which is too rare in this 
 world, for it is born of a great courage, and out- 
 ward circumstances cannot affect it. Sir John 
 Pleydell had lost all interest in his meal, and was 
 looking keenly at Conyngham, dissecting, as it
 
 228 IN KEDAR'S TENTS 
 
 were, his face, probing his mind, searching through 
 the outward manner of the man, and running 
 helplessly against a motive which he failed to 
 understand. 
 
 " 1 have in my long experience found that all 
 men may be divided into two classes," he said 
 acidly. 
 
 " Fools and knaves," suggested Conyngham. 
 
 " You have practised at the bar," parenthetically. 
 
 Conyngham shrugged his shoulders. 
 
 " Unsuccessfully ; anybody can do that." 
 
 " Which are you, a fool or a knave?" asked Sir 
 John. 
 
 And suddenly Conyngham pitied him, for no 
 man is proof against the quick sense of pathos 
 aroused by the sight of man or dumb animal baf- 
 fled. At the end of his life Sir John had engaged 
 upon the greatest quest of it — an unworthy quest, 
 no doubt, but his heart was in it — and he was an 
 old man, though he bore his years well enough. 
 
 " Perhaps that is the mistake you have always 
 made," said Conyngham, gravely. u Perhaps men 
 are not to be divided into two classes. There may 
 be some who only make mistakes, Sir John." 
 
 Unconsciously he had lapsed into the advocate, 
 as those who have once played the part are apt to 
 do. This was not his own cause, but Geoffrey 
 Horner's ; and he served his friend so thoroughly, 
 that for the moment he really was the man whose 
 part he had elected to play. Sir John Pleydell was
 
 A CROSS-EXAMINATION 229 
 
 no mean . foe. Geoffrey Horner had succeeded 
 in turning aside the public suspicion, and in the 
 eternal march of events, of which the sound is 
 louder as the world grows older and hollower, the 
 murder of Alfred Pleydell had been forgotten by all 
 save this cold-blooded avenger. Conyngham saw 
 the danger, and never thought to avoid it. What 
 had been undertaken half in jest would be carried 
 out in deadly earnest. 
 
 " Mistakes ! " said Sir John, sceptically. In 
 dealing with the seamy side of life men come to 
 believe that it is all stitches. 
 
 " Which they may pass the rest of their lives in 
 regretting." 
 
 Sir John looked sharply at his companion, with 
 suspicion dawning in his eyes again. It was Con- 
 yngham's tendency to overplay his part. Later, 
 when he became a soldier, and found that path in 
 life for which he was best fitted, his superior offi- 
 cers and the cooler tacticians complained that he 
 was over-eager and in battle outpaced the men 
 he led. 
 
 " Then you see now that it was a mistake," 
 suggested Sir John. In cross-examinations the 
 suggestions of Sir John Pleydell are remembered 
 in certain courts of justice to this day. 
 
 "Of course." 
 
 " To have mixed yourself in such an affair 
 at all ? " 
 
 « Yes."
 
 707 
 
 230 7 IN KEDAR'S TENTS 
 
 Sir John seemed to be softening, and Conyngham 
 began to see a way out of this difficulty which had 
 never suggested itself" to him before. 
 
 DO 
 
 " Such mistakes have to be paid for, and the law 
 assesses the price." 
 
 Conyngham shrugged his shoulders. 
 
 " It is easy enough to say you are sorry ; the 
 law can make no allowance for regret." 
 
 Conyngham turned his attention to his breakfast, 
 deeming it useless to continue the topic. 
 
 " It was a mistake to attend the meeting at 
 Durham ; you admit that," continued Sir John. 
 
 " Yes ; I admit that, if it is any satisfaction to 
 you." 
 
 " Then it was worse than a mistake to actually 
 lead the men out to my house for the purpose of 
 breaking the windows. It was almost a crime, I 
 would suggest to you as a soldier, for the moment, 
 to lead a charge up a steep hill against a body of 
 farm labourers and others entrenched behind a 
 railing." 
 
 " That is a mere matter of opinion." 
 
 " And yet you did that," said Sir John. " If 
 you are going to break the law, you should ensure 
 success before embarking on your undertaking." 
 
 Conyngham made no answer. 
 
 " It was also a stupid error, if I may say so, to 
 make your way back to Durham by Ravensworth, 
 where you were seen and recognised. You see, I 
 have a good case against you, Mr. Conyngham."
 
 A CROSS-EXAMINATION 231 
 
 " Yes, I admit you have a good case against me, 
 but you have not caught me yet." 
 
 Sir John Pleydell looked at him coldly. 
 " You do not even take the trouble to deny the 
 facts I have named." 
 
 " Why should I when they are true ? " asked 
 Conyngham, carelessly. 
 
 Sir John Pleydell leant back in his chair. 
 " I have classified you," he said with a queer 
 laugh. 
 
 " Ah ! " answered Conyngham, suddenly uneasy. 
 " Yes — as a fool." 
 
 He leant forward with a deprecating gesture of 
 his thin white hand. 
 
 " Do not be offended," he said, " and do not 
 
 reproach yourself for having given your case away. 
 
 You never had a case, Mr. Conyngham. Chartists 
 
 are not made of your material at all. As soon as 
 
 you gave me your card in Madrid I had a slight 
 
 suspicion. I thought you were travelling under a 
 
 false name. It was plain to the merest onlooker 
 
 that you were not the man I sought. You are 
 
 too easy-going, too much of a gentleman to be a 
 
 Chartist. You are screening somebody else. You 
 
 have played the part well, and with an admirable 
 
 courage and fidelity. I wish my boy Alfred had 
 
 had a few such friends as you. But you are a 
 
 fool, Mr. Conyngham. No man on earth is worth 
 
 the sacrifice that you have made." 
 
 Conyngham slowly stirred his coffee. He was 
 meditating.
 
 232 IN KEDAR'S TENTS 
 
 " You have pieced together a very pretty tale," 
 he said at length, " some new scheme to get me 
 within the reach of the English law, no doubt." 
 
 " It is a pretty tale, too pretty for practical life. 
 And if you want proofs, I will mention the fact 
 that the Chartist meeting was at Chester-le-Street, 
 not Durham; that my house stands in a hollow 
 and not on a hill ; that you could not possibly 
 go to Durham via Ravensworth, for they lie in op- 
 posite directions. No, Mr. Conyngham, you are 
 not the man I seek ; and, strange to say, I took a 
 liking to you when I first saw you. I am no 
 believer in instinct, or mutual sympathy, or any 
 such sentimental nonsense. I do not believe in 
 much, Mr. Conyngham, and not in human nature 
 at all. I know too much about it for that. But 
 there must have been something in that liking for 
 you at first sight. I wish you no harm, Mr. Con- 
 yngham. I am like Balaam. I came to curse, 
 and now stay to bless ; or perhaps I am more 
 like Balaam's companion and adviser — I bray too 
 much." 
 
 He sat back again with a queer smile. 
 
 " You may go home to England to-morrow if 
 you care to," he added, after a pause ; " and if 
 that affair is ever raked up against you, I will 
 be your friend, if you will have me." 
 
 « Thank you." 
 
 "You do not want to go home to England," 
 suggested Sir John, whose ear was as quick as 
 his eye.
 
 A CROSS-EXAMINATION 233 
 
 " No ; I have affairs in Spain." 
 
 " Or perhaps a castle here. Beware of such ; 
 I once had one." 
 
 And the cold, gray face softened for an instant. 
 It seemed at times as if there were, after all, a 
 man behind that marbie casing. 
 
 "A man who can secure such friendship as 
 yours has proved itself to be," said Sir John, after 
 a short silence, " can scarcely be wholly bad. He 
 may, as you say, have made a mistake. I promise 
 nothing, but perhaps I will make no further at- 
 tempts to find him." 
 
 Conyngham was silent. To speak would have 
 
 been to admit. 
 
 " So far as I am concerned," said Sir John, 
 rising, " you are safe in this or any country. But, 
 I warn you, you have a dangerous enemy in Spain." 
 
 " I know," answered Conyngham, with a laugh 
 
 "Mr. Esteban Larralde. I once undertook to 
 
 deliver a letter for him. It was not what he repre- 
 sented it to be, and after I had delivered it he 
 began to suspect me of having read it. He is kind 
 enough to consider me of some importance in the 
 politics of this country, owing to the information I 
 am supposed to possess. I know nothing of the 
 contents of the letter, but I want to regain it — if 
 only for a few moments. That is the whole story, 
 and that is how matters stand between Larralde 
 and myself."
 
 CHAPTER XXII 
 
 REPARATION 
 
 " II s'en faut bien que 1' innocence trouve autant de pro- 
 tection que le crime." 
 
 For those minded to leave Spain at this time there 
 was but one route — namely, the south, for the 
 northern exits were closed by the Carlists, still in 
 power there, though waning fast. Indeed, Don 
 Carlos was now illustrating the fact, which any 
 may learn by the study of the world's history, that 
 it is not the great causes, but the great men who 
 have made and destroyed nations. Nearly half of 
 Spain was for Don Carlos. The Church sided 
 with him, and the best soldiers were those who, 
 unpaid, unfed, and half clad, fought on the south- 
 ern slopes of the Pyrenees for a man who dared 
 not lead them. 
 
 Sir John Pleydell had intended crossing the 
 frontier into Portugal, following the carriage con- 
 veying his prisoner to the seaport of Lisbon, where 
 he anticipated no difficulty in finding a ship cap- 
 tain who would be willing to convey Conyngham 
 to England. All this, however, had been frus-
 
 REPARATION 235 
 
 trated by. so unimportant a person as Concepcion 
 Vara, and the carriage ordered for nine o'clock to 
 proceed to Talavera now stood in the courtyard 
 of the hotel, while the baronet in his lonely apart- 
 ment sat and wondered what he should do next. 
 He had dealt with justice all his life, and had en- 
 sured it not from love, but as a matter of con- 
 science and a means of livelihood. From the mere 
 habit, he now desired to do justice to Conyngham. 
 
 " See if you can find out for me the whereabouts 
 of General Vincente at the moment, and let the 
 carriage wait," he said to his servant, a valet- 
 courier of taciturn habit. 
 
 The man was about half an hour, and returned 
 with a face that promised little. 
 
 " There is a man in the hotel, sir," he said, 
 " the servant of Mr. Conyngham, who knows, but 
 will not tell me. I am told, however, that a lady 
 living in Toledo, a Contessa Barenna, will un- 
 doubtedly have the information. General Vincente 
 was lately in Madrid, but his movements are so 
 rapid and uncertain that he has become a by-word 
 in Spain." 
 
 " So I understand. I will call on this contessa 
 this afternoon, unless you can get the information 
 elsewhere during the morning. I shall not want 
 the carriage." 
 
 Sir John walked slowly to the window, deep 
 in thought. He was interested in Conyngham 
 despite himself. It is possible that he had not
 
 236 IN KEDAR'S TENTS 
 
 hitherto met a man capable of so far forgetting his 
 own interests as to undertake a foolish and danger- 
 ous escapade, without anything in the nature of 
 gain or advantage to recommend it. The windows 
 of the hotel of the Red Hat, in Toledo, look out 
 upon the market-place, and Sir John, who was 
 an indoor man, and mentally active enough to be 
 intensely bored at times, frequently used this oppor- 
 tunity of studying Spanish life. 
 
 He was looking idly through the vile panes when 
 an old priest passed by and glanced up beneath 
 shaggy brows. 
 
 " Seen that man before," said Sir John. 
 
 " Ah ! " muttered Father Concha, as he hurried 
 on toward the Palazzo Barenna. " So far, so 
 good. Where the fox is will be found the stolen 
 fowl." 
 
 Concepcion Vara, who was saddling his horse 
 in the stable-yard of the inn, saw the padre pass. 
 
 " Ah, clever one ! " he muttered ; " with your 
 jokes about my wife. Now you may make a false 
 journey for all the help you receive from me." 
 
 And a few minutes later Concepcion rode across 
 the ridge of Alcantara, some paces behind Conyng- 
 ham, who deemed it wise to return to his duties at 
 Madrid without delay. 
 
 Despite the great heat on the plains, which, 
 indeed, made it almost dangerous to travel at mid- 
 day, the streets of Toledo were cool and shady 
 enough as Sir John Pleydell traversed them in
 
 REPARATION 237 
 
 search of the Palazzo Barenna. The contessawas 
 in, and the Englishman was ushered into a vast 
 room, which even the taste of the day could not 
 entirely deprive of its mediaeval grandeur. Sir 
 John explained, in halting Spanish, that his name 
 was unknown to the Contessa Barenna, but that, 
 a stranger in some slight difficulty, he had been 
 recommended to seek her assistance. 
 
 Sir John was an imposing-looking man, with 
 that grand air which enables some men not only 
 to look, but to get over a wall while an insignifi- 
 cant wight may not so much as approach the gate. 
 The senora's curiosity did the rest. In a few 
 minutes the rustle of silk made Sir John turn from 
 the contemplation of a suit of armour. 
 
 " Madame speaks French ? " 
 
 " But yes, senor." 
 
 Madame Barenna glanced toward a chair, which 
 Sir John hastened to bring forward. He despised 
 her already, and she admired his manner vastly. 
 
 " I have taken the immense liberty of intruding 
 myself upon your notice, madame — " 
 
 "Not to sell me a Bible?" exclaimed Senora 
 Barenna, with her fan upheld in warning. 
 
 " A Bible ! I believe I have one at home, in 
 England, madame, but — " 
 
 "It is well," said madame, sinking back and 
 fanning herself rather faintly. " Excuse my fears, 
 but there is an Englishman — what is his name, I 
 forget — "
 
 238 IN KEDAR'S TENTS 
 
 " Borrow." 
 
 " Yes, that is it — Borrow. And he sells 
 Bibles, and Father Concha, my confessor — a bear, 
 but a holy man, a holy bear, as one might say — 
 has forbidden me to buy one. I am so afraid of 
 disobeying him, by heedlessness or fear or forgetful- 
 ness. There are, it appears, some things in the 
 Bible which one ought not to read, and one 
 naturally — " 
 
 She finished the sentence with a shrug and an 
 expressive gesture of the fan. 
 
 " One naturally desires to read them," suggested 
 Sir John ; " the privilege of all Eve's daughters, 
 madame." 
 
 Senora Barenna treated the flatterer to what the 
 French call a fin sourire, and wondered how long 
 Julia would stay away. This man would pay her 
 another compliment in a moment. 
 
 " I merely called on the excuse of a common 
 friendship, to ask if you can tell me the where- 
 abouts of General Vincente," said Sir John, stat- 
 ing his business in haste and when the opportunity 
 presented itself. 
 
 " Is it politics ? " asked the lady, with a hasty 
 glance round the room. 
 
 " No ; it is scarcely politics ; but why do you 
 ask ? You are surely too wise, madame, to take 
 part in such. It is a woman's mission to please, 
 and when it is so easy ! " 
 
 He waved his thin white hand in completion of
 
 REPARATION 239 
 
 a suggestion which made his hearer bridle her stout 
 person. 
 
 " No, no," she whispered, glancing over her 
 shoulder at the door — "no; it is my daughter. 
 Ah, senor, you can scarce imagine what it is to 
 live upon a volcano ! " 
 
 And she pointed to the oak floor with her fan. 
 Sir John deemed it wise to confine his display of 
 sympathy to a glance of the deepest concern. 
 
 " No," he said ; " it is merely a personal matter. 
 I have a communication to make to my friend, 
 General Vincente, or to his daughter." 
 
 « To Estella ? " 
 
 " To the Senorita Estella." 
 
 " Do you think her beautiful ? Some do, you 
 know. Eyes, I admit — yes, lovely." 
 
 " I admire the senorita exceedingly." 
 
 " Ah, yes — yes ! You have not seen my 
 daughter, have you, senor ? Julia. She rather 
 resembles Estella." 
 
 The contessa paused and examined her fan with 
 a careless air. 
 
 " Some say," she went on, apparently with reluc- 
 tance, " that Julia is — well — has some advan- 
 tages of Estella. But / do not, of course. I 
 admire Estella excessively — oh, yes — yes." 
 
 And the senora's dark eyes searched Sir John's face. 
 They might have found more in sculptured marble. 
 
 " Do you know where she is ? " asked Sir John, 
 almost bluntly. Like a workman who has mis-
 
 2 4 o IN KEDAR'S TENTS 
 
 taken his material, he was laying aside his finer 
 conversational tools. 
 
 " Well, I believe they arrive in Toledo this 
 evening. I cannot think why. But with General 
 Vincente one never knows. He is so pleasant, so 
 playful, such a smile ; but you know him. Well, 
 they say in Spain, that he is always where he is 
 wanted. Ah — " madame paused and cast her 
 eyes up to the ceiling — " what it is to be wanted 
 somewhere, senor ! " 
 
 And she gave him the benefit of one of her 
 deepest sighs. Sir John mentally followed the 
 direction of her glance, and wondered what the 
 late count thought about it. 
 
 " Yes, I am deeply interested in Estella, as, 
 indeed, is natural, for she is my niece. She has 
 no mother, and the general has such absurd ideas. 
 He thinks that a girl is capable of choosing a 
 husband for herself; but to you, an Englishman, 
 such an idea is naturally not astonishing. I am 
 told that in your country it is the girls who actu- 
 ally propose marriage." 
 
 " Not in words, madame ; not more in England 
 than elsewhere." 
 
 " Ah ! " said madame, looking at him doubtfully, 
 and thinking despite herself of Father Concha. 
 
 Sir John rose from the chair he had taken at 
 the senora's silent invitation. 
 
 " Then I may expect the general to arrive at 
 my hotel this evening ? " he said. " I am staying
 
 REPARATION 241 
 
 at the Red Hat, the only hotel, as I understand, in 
 Toledo." 
 
 "Yes; he will doubtless descend there. Do 
 you know Frederick Conyngham, senor ? " 
 
 " Yes." 
 
 " But every one knows him ! " exclaimed the 
 lady, vivaciously. " Tell me how it is. A most 
 pleasant young man, I allow you, but without 
 introductions, and quite unconnected. Yet he has 
 friends everywhere — " 
 
 The contessa paused, and closing her fan leant 
 forward in an attitude of intense confidence and 
 secrecy. 
 
 " And how about his little affair ? " she whis- 
 pered. 
 
 " His little affair, madame ? " 
 
 " De cceur" explained the lady, tapping her own 
 breast with an eloquent fan. 
 
 " Estella," she whispered, after a pause. 
 
 " Ah ! " said Sir John, as if he knew too much 
 about it to give an opinion. And he took his 
 leave. 
 
 "That is the sort of woman to break one's 
 heart in the witness-box," he said, as he passed out 
 into the deserted street ; and Senora Barenna, in 
 the great room with the armour, reflected com- 
 placently that the English lord had been visibly 
 impressed. 
 
 General Vincente and Estella arrived at the 
 hotel of the Red Hat in the evening, but did not, 
 
 16
 
 242 IN KEDAR'S TENTS 
 
 of course, appear in tbe public rooms. His dusty 
 old travelling carriage was placed in a quiet corner 
 of the courtyard of the hotel, and the general 
 appeared on this, as on all occasions, to court 
 retirement and oblivion. Unlike many of his 
 brothers in arms, he had no desire to catch the 
 public eye. 
 
 " There is doubtless something astir," said the 
 waiter who, in the intervals of a casual attendance 
 on Sir John, spoke of these things, cigarette in 
 mouth — " there is doubtless something astir, since 
 General Vincente is on the road. They call him 
 the Stormy Petrel, for when he appears abroad 
 there usually follows a disturbance." 
 
 Sir John sent his servant to the general's apart- 
 ment about eight o'clock in the evening, asking 
 permission to present himself. In reply the gen- 
 eral himself came to Sir John's room. 
 
 " My dear sir," he cried, taking both the Eng- 
 lishman's hands in an affectionate grasp, "to think 
 that you were in the hotel, and that we did not 
 dine together. Come — yes, come to our poor 
 apartment, where Estella awaits the pleasure of 
 renewing your acquaintance." 
 
 " Then the senorita," said Sir John, following 
 his companion along the dimly lighted passage, 
 " has her father's pleasant faculty of forgetting any 
 little contretemps of the past ? " 
 
 " Ask her," exclaimed the general, in his cheery 
 way — " ask her."
 
 REPARATION 
 
 243 
 
 And he threw open the door of the dingy salon 
 they occupied. 
 
 Estella was standing with her back to the 
 window, and her attitude suggested that she had 
 not sat down since she had heard of Sir John's 
 presence in the hotel. 
 
 " Senorita," said the Englishman, with that per- 
 fect knowledge of the world which usually has its 
 firmest basis upon contempt and indifference to 
 criticism — " senorita, I have come to avow a 
 mistake, and to make my excuses." 
 
 " It is surely unnecessary," said Estella, rather 
 coldly. 
 
 " Say rather," broke in the general, in his 
 smoothest way, " that you have come to take a cup 
 of coffee with us, and to tell us your news." 
 
 Sir John took the chair which the general 
 brought forward. 
 
 "At all events," he said, addressing Estella, 
 " it is probably a matter of indifference to you, as 
 it is merely an opinion expressed by myself which 
 I wish to retract. When I first had the pleasure 
 of meeting you, I took it upon myself to speak of 
 a guest in your father's house, fortunately in the 
 presence of that guest himself, and I now wish to 
 tell you that what I said does not apply to Fred- 
 erick Conyngham himself, but to another whom 
 Conyngham is screening. He has not confessed 
 so much to me, but I have satisfied myself that he 
 is not the man I seek, You, general, who know
 
 244 ' IN KEDAR'S TENTS 
 
 more of the world than the senorita, and have been 
 in it almost as long as I have, can bear me out in 
 the statement that the motives of men are not so 
 easy to discern as younger folks imagine. I do 
 not know what induced Conyngham to undertake 
 this thing, probably he entered into it in a spirit of 
 impetuous and reckless generosity, which would 
 only be in keeping with his character. I only 
 know that he has carried it out with a thorough- 
 ness and daring worthy of all praise. If such a 
 tie were possible between an old man and a young, 
 I should like to be able to claim Mr. Conyngham 
 as a friend. There, senorita, thank you ; I will 
 take coffee. I made the accusation in your pres- 
 ence, I retract it before you. It is, as you see, a 
 small matter." 
 
 " But it is of small matters that life is made 
 up," put in the general, in his deferential way. 
 " Our friend," he went on after a pause, " is 
 unfortunate in misrepresenting himself. We also 
 have a little grudge against him, a little matter of 
 a letter which has not been explained. I admit 
 that I should like to see that letter." 
 
 " And where is it ? " asked Sir John. 
 
 " Ah ! " replied Vincente, with a shrug of the 
 shoulders and a gay little laugh, " who can tell ? 
 Perhaps in Toledo, my dear sir — perhaps in 
 Toledo."
 
 CHAPTER XXIII 
 larralde's price 
 
 " It is as difficult to be entirely bad as it is to be entirely 
 good." 
 
 To those who say that there is no faith, Spain is 
 in itself a palpable answer. No country in the 
 world can show such cathedrals as those of Gran- 
 ada, Cordova, Seville, Toledo, Burgos. In any 
 other land any one of these great structures would 
 suffice. But in Spain these huge monuments to 
 that faith which has held serenely through war and 
 fashion, through thought and thoughtlessness, are 
 to be found in all the great cities. And the queen 
 of them all is Toledo. If the Christian faith be, 
 as some state, a mistake, then those who built 
 Toledo Cathedral were mistaken to good purposes, 
 and for us, who follow and cannot do likewise in 
 architecture, it may be wise to make, at all events, 
 the same mistake in faith. 
 
 Father Concha, that sour-visaged philosopher, 
 had a queer pride in his profession and in the his- 
 tory of that Church which is to-day seen in its 
 purest form in the Peninsula, while it is so 
 entangled with the national story of Spain that 
 the two are but one tale told from a different point
 
 246 IN KEDAR'S TENTS 
 
 of view. As a private soldier may take pleasure 
 in standing on a great battle-field, noting each spot 
 of interest, — here a valley of death, there the scene 
 of cavalry charge, of which the thunder will echo 
 down through all the ages, — so Concha, a mere 
 country priest, liked to pace the aisles of a great 
 cathedral, indulging the while in a half-cynical 
 pride. He was no great general, no leader, of no 
 smallest importance in the ranks ; but he was of 
 the army, and partook in a minute degree of those 
 victories that belonged to the past. It was his 
 habit thus to pay a visit to Toledo Cathedral 
 whensoever his journeys led him to Castile. It 
 was, moreover, his simple custom to attend the 
 early mass, which is here historical ; and, indeed, 
 to walk through the church, gray and cool, with 
 the hush that seems to belong only to buildings of 
 a stupendous age, is in itself a religious service. 
 
 Concha was passing across the nave, hat in 
 hand, a gaunt, ill-clad, and somewhat pathetic 
 figure, when he caught sight of Sir John Pleydell. 
 The tall Englishman paused involuntarily and 
 looked at the lean Spaniard. Concha bowed. 
 
 " We met," he said, " for a moment in the 
 garden of General Vincente's house at Ronda." 
 
 " True," answered Sir John ; " are you leaving 
 the cathedral? We might walk a little way 
 together. One cannot talk idly . . . here." 
 
 He paused and looked up at the great oak 
 screen, at the towering masonry.
 
 LARRALDE'S PRICE 247 
 
 M No,"- answered Concha, gravely ; " one cannot 
 talk idly here." 
 
 Concha held back the great leathern portiere, and 
 the Englishman passed out. 
 
 " This is a queer country, and you are a queer 
 people," he said presently. " When I was at 
 Ronda I met a certain number of persons — I can 
 count them on my fingers — General Vincente, 
 his daughter, Senora Barenna, Senorita Barenna, 
 the Englishman, Conyngham, yourself, Sefior 
 Concha. I arrived in Toledo yesterday morning. 
 In twenty-four hours I have caught sight of all the 
 persons mentioned here in Toledo." 
 
 " And here in Toledo is another of whom you 
 have not caught sight," said Concha. 
 
 « Ah ! " 
 
 " Yes ; Senor Larralde." 
 
 " Is he here ? " 
 
 " Yes," said Concha. 
 
 They walked on in silence for some minutes. 
 
 "What are we all doing here, padre?" in- 
 quired Sir John, with his cold laugh. 
 
 u What are you doing here, senor ? " 
 
 Sir John did not answer at once. They were 
 walking leisurely. The streets were deserted, as, 
 indeed, the streets of Toledo usually are. 
 
 " I am putting two and two together," the great 
 lawyer answered at length. " I began doing so in 
 idleness, and now I have become interested." 
 
 « Ah ! "
 
 248 IN KEDAR'S TENTS 
 
 " Yes, I have become interested. They say, 
 padre, that a pebble set in motion at the summit of 
 a mountain may gather other pebbles and increase in 
 bulk and spread, until in the form of an avalanche 
 it overwhelms a city in the valley." 
 
 " Yes, senor." 
 
 " And I have conceived the strange fancy that 
 Frederick Conyngham, when he first came to this 
 country set such a pebble in motion at the sum- 
 mit of a very high mountain. It has been falling 
 and falling silently ever since, and it is gaining in 
 bulk. And you and General Vincente, and Estella 
 Vincente, and Senorita Barenna, and Frederick 
 Conyngham, and, in a minor degree, myself are 
 on the slope, in the track of the avalanche, and 
 are sliding down behind it. And the general 
 and Estella, and yourself and Conyngham are try- 
 ing to overtake it and stop it ; and, reverendo, in 
 the valley below is the monarchy of Spain and the 
 Bourbon cause." 
 
 Father Concha, remembering his favourite maxim, 
 that no flies enter a shut mouth, was silent. 
 
 " The pebble was a letter," said Sir John. 
 
 " And Larralde has it," he added, after a pause ; 
 " and that is why you are all in Toledo, why the air 
 is thick with apprehension, and why all Spain seems 
 to pause and wait breathlessly. 
 
 " Will the avalanche be stopped, or will it not ? 
 Will the Bourbons, than whom history has known 
 no more interesting and more satisfactory race,
 
 LARRALDE'S PRICE 249 
 
 except our own Stuarts — will the Bourbons fall, 
 Senor Padre ? " 
 
 " Ah ! " said Concha, whose furrowed face and 
 pessimistic glance betrayed nothing — " ah ! " 
 
 " You will not tell me, of course. You know 
 much that you will not tell me, and I merely ask 
 from curiosity. You, perhaps, know one thing, 
 and that I wish to learn from you, not out of curi- 
 osity, but because I, too, would fain overtake the 
 avalanche and stop it. I am no politician, senor, 
 though, of course, I have my views. When a man 
 has reached my age he knows assuredly that politics 
 merely mean self-aggrandisement and nothing else. 
 No, the Bourbons may fall, Spain may follow the 
 lead of France, and make an exhibition of herself 
 before the world as a republic. I am indifferent to 
 these events. But I wish to do Frederick Con- 
 yngham a good turn, and I ask you to tell me 
 where I shall find Larralde, you who know every- 
 thing, Senor Padre." 
 
 Concha reflected while they walked along on the 
 shady side of the narrow street. It happened to 
 be the street where the saddlers live, and the sharp 
 sound of their little hammers on the leather and 
 wood came from almost every darkened door- 
 way. The padre had a wholesome fear of Esteban 
 Larralde, and an exaggerated estimation of that 
 schemer's ability. He was a humble-minded old 
 man, and ever hesitated to put his own brain 
 against that of another. He knew that Sir John
 
 250 IN KEDAR'S TENTS 
 
 was a cleverer man than Larralde, deeper versed 
 in that side of human nature where the seams are 
 and the knots and the unsightly stitches, older, more 
 experienced, and probably no more scrupulous. 
 
 " Yes," said the priest, " I can tell you that. 
 Larralde lodges in the house of a malcontent, one 
 Lamberto, a scribbling journalist, who is hurt 
 because the world takes him at its own valuation 
 and not his. The house is next to the little syna- 
 gogue in the Calle de Madrid, a small stationer's 
 shop, where one may buy the curse of this genera- 
 tion, pens and paper." 
 
 " Thank you," said Sir John, civilly and simply. 
 This man has, no doubt, been ill painted, but some 
 may have seen that with different companions he 
 wore a different manner. He was, as all successful 
 men are, an unconscious actor, and in entering into 
 the personality of the companion of the moment he 
 completely sank his own. He never sought to be 
 all things to all men, and yet he came near to the 
 accomplishment of that hard task. Sir John was 
 not a sympathetic man, he merely mistook life for 
 a court of justice, and arraigned all human nature 
 in the witness-box, with the inward conviction that 
 this should by rights be exchanged for the felon's 
 dock. 
 
 With Concha he was as simple, as direct, and as 
 unsophisticated as the old priest himself, and now 
 took his leave without attempting to disguise the 
 fact that he had accomplished a fore-set purpose.
 
 LARRALDE'S PRICE 251 
 
 Without difficulty he found the small stationer's 
 shop next the synagogue in the Calle de Madrid, 
 and bade the stationer, a spectacled individual with 
 upright hair and the air of seeking something in the 
 world which is not usually behind a counter, take 
 his card to Senor Larralde. At first the stationer 
 pretended ignorance of the name, but on discover- 
 ing that Sir John had not sufficient Spanish to 
 conduct a conversation of intrigue, disappeared 
 into a back room, whence emanated a villainous 
 smell of cooking. 
 
 While Sir John waited in the little shop, Father 
 Concha walked to the Plazuela de la Iglesia Vieja, 
 which small square, overhanging the Tagus and 
 within reach of its murmuring voice, is deserted, ex- 
 cept at midday, when the boys play at bull fighting 
 and a few workmen engage in a grave game of bowls. 
 Concha sat, book in hand, opened honestly at the 
 office of the day and hour, and read no word. 
 Instead, he stared across the gorge at the brown 
 bank of land which commands the city, and renders 
 it useless as a fortress in the days of modern artil- 
 lery. He sat and stared grimly, and thought per- 
 haps of those secret springs within the human 
 heart that make one man successful and unhappy, 
 while another who, possessing brains and ability 
 and energy, yet fails in life, and is perhaps none 
 the less the happier of the two, for it had happened 
 to Father Concha, as it may happen to writer and 
 reader at any moment, to meet one who in indi-
 
 252 IN KEDAR'S TENTS 
 
 viduality bears a resemblance to that self which we 
 never know and yet are ever conscious of. 
 
 Sir John Pleydell, a few hundred yards away, 
 obeyed the shopman's invitation to step upstairs 
 with something approaching alacrity, so easily is 
 the interest of a lonely man aroused. 
 
 Larralde was seated at a table strewn with 
 newspapers and soiled by cigarette-ash. He had 
 the unkempt and pallid look of one who has not 
 seen the sun or breathed air for days, for, as 
 Concepcion had said, this was a conspirator who 
 preferred to lurk in friendly shelter while others 
 played the bolder game at the front. Larralde 
 had, in fact, not stirred abroad f6r nearly a week. 
 
 " Well, senor," he said, with a false air of bra- 
 vado, " how fares it with your little undertaking ? " 
 
 " That," replied Sir John, " is past and paid for, 
 and I have another matter for your consideration." 
 
 Sir John's manner had changed. He spoke as 
 one having authority, and Larralde shrugged his 
 shoulders, remembering a past payment. 
 
 u Ah ! " he said, rolling a cigarette with a fine 
 air of indifference. 
 
 " On the one hand," continued Sir John, judi- 
 cially, "I come to make you an offer which can 
 only be beneficial to you ; on the other hand, 
 Senor Larralde, I know enough to make things 
 particularly unpleasant for you." 
 
 Larralde raised his eyebrows and sought the 
 match-box. His thoughts seemed to amuse him.
 
 LARRALDE'S PRICE 253 
 
 " I have reason to assume that a certain letter is 
 now in your possession again. I do not know the 
 contents of this letter, and I cannot say that I am 
 at all interested in it, but a friend of mine is par- 
 ticularly anxious to have possession of it for a short 
 space of time. I have, unasked, taken upon myself 
 the office of intermediary." 
 
 Larralde's eyes flashed through the smoke. 
 
 " You are about to offer me money ; be careful, 
 senor," he said hotly ; and the lawyer smiled. 
 
 " Be careful that it is enough," he suggested. 
 " Keep your grand airs for your fellows, Senor 
 Larralde. Yes, I am about to offer you two hun- 
 dred pounds — say three thousand pesetas — for 
 the loan of that letter for a few hours only. I will 
 guarantee that it is read by one person only, and 
 that a lady. This lady will probably glance at the 
 first lines, merely to satisfy herself as to the nature 
 of its contents. Three thousand pesetas will enable 
 you to escape to Cuba if your schemes fail. If 
 you succeed, three thousand pesetas will always 
 be of use, even to a member of a republican 
 government." 
 
 Larralde had ceased smiling. There is a time 
 in the schemes of men, and it usually comes just 
 before the crisis, when the stoutest heart hesitates 
 and the most reckless conspirator thinks of his 
 retreat. Esteban Larralde had begun to think of 
 Cuba during the last few days, and the mention of 
 that haven for Spanish failures almost unnerved him.
 
 254 IN KEDAR'S TENTS 
 
 "In a week," suggested Sir John, again, " it may 
 be . . . well . . . settled one way or the other." 
 
 Larralde glanced at him sharply. This English- 
 man was either well informed or very cunning. 
 He seemed to have read the thought in Larralde's 
 mind. 
 
 " No doubt," went on the Englishman, " you 
 have divined for whom I want the letter, and who 
 will read it. We both owe Conyngham a good 
 turn — I in reparation, you in gratitude, for he 
 undoubtedly saved the Senorita Barenna from 
 imprisonment for life." 
 
 Larralde shrugged his shoulders. 
 
 " Each man," he said, " must fight for himself." 
 
 " And the majority of us for a woman as well," 
 amended Sir John. " At least, in Spain, chivalry 
 is not yet dead." 
 
 Larralde laughed. He was vain, and Sir John 
 knew it. He had a keen sight for the breach in 
 his opponent's armour. 
 
 " You have put your case well," said the 
 Spaniard, patronisingly, " and I do not see why, at 
 the end of a week, I should not agree to your pro- 
 posal. It is, as you say, for the sake of a woman." 
 
 " Precisely." 
 
 Larralde leant back in his chair, remembering 
 the legendary gallantry of his race, and wearing an 
 appropriate expression. 
 
 " For a woman," he repeated, with an eloquent 
 gesture.
 
 LARRALDE'S PRICE 255 
 
 u 
 
 Precisely." 
 " Then I will do it, senor — I will do it." 
 " For two hundred pounds ? " inquired Sir John, 
 
 coldly. 
 
 " As you will," answered the Spaniard, with a 
 
 noble indifference to such sordid matters.
 
 CHAPTER XXIV 
 
 PRIESTCRAFT 
 
 " No man, I fear, can effect great benefits for his coun- 
 try without some sacrifice of the minor virtues." 
 
 The Senora Barenna was a leading social light 
 in Toledo, insomuch as she never refused an 
 invitation. 
 
 " One has one's duties toward society," she 
 would say, with a sigh, " though the saints know 
 that I take no pleasure in these affairs." 
 
 Then she put on her best Seville mantilla and 
 bustled off to some function or another, where she 
 talked volubly and without discretion. 
 
 Julia had of late withdrawn more and more from 
 that life of continued and mild festivity, of which, 
 it is to be feared, the existence of many women is 
 composed. This afternoon she sat alone in the 
 great, gloomy house in Toledo, waiting for Lar- 
 ralde ; for she, like thousands of her sisters, loved 
 an unworthy object, — faute de mieux, — with open 
 eyes and a queer philosophy that bade her love 
 Larralde rather than love none. She had lately 
 spent a great part of her existence in waiting for
 
 PRIESTCRAFT 
 
 257 
 
 Larralde, ' who, indeed, was busy enough at this 
 time, and rarely stirred abroad while the sun was 
 up. 
 
 " Julia," said Senora Barenna to Concha, " is no 
 longer a companion to me. She does not even 
 attempt to understand my sensitive organisation. 
 She is a mere statue, and thinks of nothing but 
 politics." 
 
 " For her, madame, as for all women, there 
 would be no politics if there were no politicians," 
 the priest replied. 
 
 This afternoon Julia was more restless than 
 ever. Larralde had not been to see her for many 
 days, and had only written a hurried note from 
 time to time, in answer to her urgent request, 
 telling her that he was well and in no danger. 
 
 She now no longer knew whether he was in 
 Toledo or not, but had sufficient knowledge of the 
 schemes in which he was engaged to be aware of 
 the fact that these were coming to a crisis. Este- 
 ban Larralde had, indeed, told her more than was 
 either necessary or discreet, and it was his vanity 
 that led him into this imprudence. We are all 
 ready enough to impart information which will 
 show our neighbours that we are more important 
 than we appear. 
 
 After a broiling day the sun was now beginning 
 to lose a little of his terrific power, and in the 
 shade of the patio, upon which the windows of 
 Julia's room opened, the air was quite cool and 
 
 17
 
 258 IN KEDAR'S TENTS 
 
 pleasant. A fountain plashed continuously in a 
 little basin that had been white six centuries ago, 
 when the Moors had brought the marble across the 
 Gulf of Lyons to build it. The very sound of the 
 water was a relief to overstrained nerves, and 
 seemed to diminish the tension of the shimmering 
 atmosphere. 
 
 Julia was alone, and barely made pretence to 
 read the book she held in her hand. From her 
 seat she could see the bell suspended on the opposite 
 wall of the courtyard, of which the deep voice at 
 any time of day or night had the power of stirring 
 her heart in a sudden joy. At last the desired 
 sound broke the silence of the great house, and 
 Julia stood breathless at the window, while the 
 servant leisurely crossed the patio and threw open 
 the great door, large enough to admit a carriage 
 and pair. It was not Larralde, but Father Concha, 
 brought hither by a note he had received from Sir 
 John Pleydell earlier in the afternoon. 
 
 " I shall have the letter in a week from now," 
 the Englishman had written. 
 
 " Which will be too late," commented Concha, 
 pessimistically. 
 
 The senora was out, they told him, but the 
 senorita had remained at home. 
 
 " It is the senorita I desire to see." 
 
 And Julia, at the window above, heard the 
 remark with a sinking heart. The air seemed to 
 be weighted with the suggestion of calamity. Concha
 
 PRIESTCRAFT 259 
 
 had the • manner of one bringing bad news. She 
 forgot that this was his usual mien. 
 
 " Ah, my child ! " he said, coming into the room 
 a minute later and sitting down rather wearily. 
 
 " What ? " she asked, her two hands at her 
 breast. 
 
 He glanced at her beneath his brows. The 
 wind was in the northeast, dry and tingling. The 
 sun had worn a coppery hue all day. Such matters 
 affect women and those who are in mental distress. 
 After such a day as had at last worn to evening the 
 mind is at a great tension, the nerves are strained. 
 It is at such times that men fly into sudden anger 
 and whip out the knife. At such times women are 
 reckless, and the stories of human lives take sudden 
 turns. 
 
 Concha knew that he had this woman at a 
 disadvantage. 
 
 " What ? " he echoed ; " I wish I knew. I wish 
 at times I was no priest." 
 
 « Why ? " 
 
 "Because I could help you better. Sometimes 
 it is the man and not the priest who is the truest 
 friend." 
 
 " Why do you speak like this ? " she cried. " Is 
 there danger ? What has happened ? " 
 
 "You know best, my child, if there is danger; 
 you know what is likely to happen." 
 
 Julia stood looking at him with hard eyes, the 
 eyes of one in mortal fear.
 
 2 6o IN KEDAR'S TENTS 
 
 cc 
 
 You have always been my friend," she said 
 slowly — " my best friend." 
 
 " Yes ; a woman's lover is never her best friend." 
 
 " Has anything happened to Esteban ? " 
 
 The priest did not answer at once, but paused, 
 
 reflecting, and dusting his sleeve, where there 
 
 was always some snuff requiring attention at such 
 
 moments. 
 
 "I know so little," he said. "I am no poli- 
 tician. What can I say ? What can I advise 
 you when I am in the dark ? And the time is 
 slipping by — slipping by." 
 
 " I cannot tell you," she answered, turning 
 away and looking out of the window. 
 
 " You cannot tell the priest ; tell the man." 
 Then suddenly she reached the end of her endur- 
 ance. Standing with her back toward him she 
 told her story, and Concha listened with a still, 
 breathless avidity, as one who, having long sought 
 knowledge, finds it at last when it seemed out of 
 reach. The little fountain plashed in the court- 
 yard below, a frog in the basin among the water- 
 lilies croaked sociably, while the priest and the 
 beautiful woman in the room above made history, 
 for it is not always in kings' palaces nor yet in 
 parliaments that the story of the world is shaped. 
 
 Concha spoke no word, and Julia, having begun, 
 left nothing unsaid, but told him every detail in a 
 slow, mechanical voice, as if bidden thereto by a 
 stronger will than her own.
 
 PRIESTCRAFT 261 
 
 u He is all the world to me," she said simply in 
 conclusion. 
 
 " Yes ; and the happiest women are those who 
 live in a small world." 
 
 A silence fell upon them. The old priest sur- 
 reptitiously looked at his watch. He was essen- 
 tially a man of action. 
 
 " My child," he said, rising, " when you are an 
 old woman with children to harass you and make 
 your life worth living, you will probably look 
 back with thankfulness to this moment, for you 
 have done that which was your only chance of 
 happiness." 
 
 " Why do you always help me ? " she asked, as 
 she had asked a hundred times. 
 
 " Because happiness is so rare, that I hate to see 
 it wasted," he answered, going toward the door 
 with a grim laugh. 
 
 He passed out of the room and crossed the patio 
 slowly. Then, when the great door had closed 
 behind him, he gathered up the skirts of his cas- 
 sock and hurried down the narrow street. In such 
 thoroughfares as were deserted he ran with the 
 speed and endurance of a spare, hard-living man. 
 Woman-like, Julia had, after all, done things by half. 
 She had timed her confession, as it seemed, too late, 
 
 At the hotel they told the padre that General 
 Vincente was at dinner and could not be disturbed. 
 
 " He sees no one," the servant said. 
 
 " You do not know who I am," said Concha,
 
 262 IN KEDAR'S TENTS 
 
 in an irony which under the circumstances he alone 
 could enjoy. Then he passed up the stairs and 
 bade the waiter begone. 
 
 " But I carry the general's dessert," protested the 
 man. 
 
 " No," said Concha, half to himself j " I have 
 that." 
 
 Vincente was, indeed, at the table with Estella. 
 He looked up as the priest entered, fingering a cig- 
 arette delicately. 
 
 " How soon can you take the road ? " asked 
 Concha, abruptly. 
 
 " Ten minutes, the time for a cup of coffee," 
 was the answer, given with a pleasant laugh. 
 
 " Then order your carriage." 
 
 Vincente looked at his old friend, and the smile 
 never left his lips, though his eyes were grave 
 enough. It was hard to say whether aught on 
 earth could disturb this man's equanimity. Then 
 the general rose and went to the window, which 
 opened upon the courtyard. In the quiet corner, 
 near the rain-tank, where a vine grows upon trellis- 
 work, the dusty travelling-carriage stood, and upon 
 the step of it, eating a simple meal of bread and 
 dried figs, sat the man who had the reputation of 
 being the fastest driver in Spain. 
 
 " In ten minutes, my good Manuel," said the 
 general. 
 
 " Bueno ! " grumbled the driver, with his mouth 
 full, a man of few words.
 
 PRIESTCRAFT 263 
 
 " Is it- to go far ? " asked the general, turning on 
 his heel and addressing Concha. 
 
 " A long journey." 
 
 " To take the road, Manuel ! " cried Vincente, 
 leaning out. He closed the window before resum- 
 ing his seat. 
 
 " And now, have you any more orders ? " he 
 asked, with a gay carelessness. " I counted on 
 sleeping in a bed to-night." 
 
 " You will not do that," replied Concha, " when 
 you hear my news." 
 
 « Ah ! " 
 
 " But first you must promise me not to make 
 use of the information I give you against any sus- 
 pected persons ; to take, in fact, only preventive 
 measures." 
 
 " You have only to name it, my friend. 
 Proceed." 
 
 The old priest paused and passed his hand 
 across his brow. He was breathless still and 
 looked worn. 
 
 " It is," he said, " a very grave matter. I have 
 not had much experience in such things, for my 
 path has always lain in small parochial affairs, 
 dealings with children and women." 
 
 Estella was already pouring some wine into a 
 glass. With a woman's instinct she saw that the 
 old man was overwrought and faint. It was a Fri- 
 day, and in his simple way there was no more 
 austere abstinent than Father Concha, who had
 
 264 IN KEDAR'S TENTS 
 
 probably touched little food throughout the long, 
 hot day. 
 
 " Take your time, my friend, take your time," 
 said the general, who never hurried, and was never 
 too late. " A pinch of snuff now, it stimulates the 
 nerves." 
 
 " It is," said Concha, at length breaking a biscuit 
 in his long, bony fingers, and speaking unembar- 
 rassedly with his mouth full — "it is that I have 
 by the merest accident lighted upon a matter of 
 political importance." 
 
 The general nodded, and held his wine up to 
 the light. 
 
 " There are matters of much political import- 
 ance," he said, " in the air just now." 
 
 " A plot," continued Concha, " spreading over 
 all Spain. The devil is surely in it, and I know 
 the Carlists are. A plot, believe me, to assassinate 
 and rob and kidnap." 
 
 " Yes," said the general, with his tolerant little 
 smile — " yes, my dear padre, some men are so 
 bloodthirsty ; is it not so ? " 
 
 " This plot is directed against the little Queen, 
 against the Queen Regent, against many who are 
 notable Royalists, occupying high posts in the 
 government or the army." 
 
 He glanced at Estella, and then looked mean- 
 ingly at the general, who could scarcely fail to 
 comprehend. 
 
 " Let us deal with the Queen and the Queen
 
 PRIESTCRAFT 265 
 
 Regent,"- said Vincente ; "the others are probably 
 able to take care of themselves." 
 
 " None can guard himself against assassination." 
 
 The general seemed for a moment inclined to 
 dispute this statement, but shrugged his shoulders 
 and finally passed it by. 
 
 " The Queen," he said ; " what of her ? " 
 
 In response Concha took a newspaper from his 
 pocket and spread it out on the table. After a 
 brief search up and down the ill-printed columns 
 he found the desired paragraph and real aloud : 
 
 " The Queen is in Madrid. The Queen Re' 
 gent journeys from Seville to rejoin her daughter 
 in the capital, prosecuting her journey by easy 
 stages and accompanied by a small guard. Her 
 Majesty sleeps at Ciudad Real to-night, and at 
 Toledo to-morrow night." 
 
 " This," said Concha, folding the newspaper, " is 
 a Carlist and revolutionary rag, whose readers are 
 scarcely likely to be interested for a good motive in 
 the movements of the Queen Regent." 
 
 "True, my dear padre — true," admitted Vin- 
 cente, half reluctantly. 
 
 " Many kiss hands they would fain see chopped 
 off. In the streets and on the plaza I have seen 
 many reading this newspaper and talking over it 
 with unusual interest. Like a bad lawyer, I am 
 giving the confirmation of the argument before the 
 argument itself." 
 
 " No matter, no matter."
 
 266 IN KEDAR'S TENTS 
 
 " Ah ! but we have no time to do things ill or 
 carelessly," said the priest. " My story is a long 
 one, but I will tell it as quickly as I can." 
 
 " Take your time," urged the general, soothingly. 
 " This great plot, you say, which is to spread over 
 all Spain . . ." 
 
 " Is for to-morrow night, my friend."
 
 CHAPTER XXV 
 
 SWORDCRAFT 
 
 "Rien n'est plus courageux qu'un coeur patient, rien 
 n'est plus sur de soi qu'un esprit doux." 
 
 The general set down his glass, and a queer light 
 came into his eyes, usually so smiling and pleasant. 
 
 " Ah ! Then you are right, my friend. Tell 
 us your story as quickly as possible." 
 
 « It appears," said Concha, " that there has 
 been in progress for many months a plot to assas- 
 sinate the Queen Regent and to seize the person 
 of the little Queen, expelling her from Spain and 
 bringing in not Don Carlos, who is a spent fire- 
 work, but a republic, a more dangerous firework, 
 that usually bursts in the hands of those that light 
 it. This plot has been finally put into shape by 
 a letter. . . ." 
 
 He paused, tapped on the table with his bony 
 fingers, and glanced at Estella. 
 
 "... A letter which has been going the round 
 of all the malcontents in the Peninsula. Each 
 faction-leader, to show that he has read it and 
 agrees to obey its commands, initials the letter. It 
 has then been returned to an intermediary, who
 
 268 IN KEDAR'S TENTS 
 
 sends it to the next — never by post, unless un- 
 avoidable, because the post is watched — always 
 by hand, and usually by the hand of a person inno- 
 cent of its contents." 
 
 " Yes," murmured the general, absently, and there 
 was a queer little triumphant smile on Estella's 
 lips. 
 
 " To think," cried Concha, with a sudden fire 
 less surprising in Spain than in England — " to 
 think that we have all seen it, have touched it ! 
 Name of a saint, I had it under my hand, alone 
 and unobserved, in the hotel at Algeciras, and I 
 left it on the table. And now it has been the 
 round, and all the initials are placed upon it, and 
 it is for to-morrow." 
 
 " Where have you learnt this ? " asked the gen- 
 eral, in a voice that made Estella look at him. 
 She had never seen him as his enemies had seen 
 him, and even they confessed that he was always 
 visible enough in action. Perhaps there was an- 
 other man behind the personality of this deprecat- 
 ing, pleasant-spoken, little sybarite — a man who 
 only appeared (oh, vara avis ! ) when he was 
 wanted. 
 
 " No matter ! " replied Concha, in a voice as 
 hard and sharp. 
 
 " No, after all, it is of no matter so long as 
 your information is reliable." 
 
 " You may stake your life on that," said Con- 
 cha, and remembered the words ever after.
 
 SWORDCRAFT 269 
 
 " It has been decided to make this journey from 
 Seville to Madrid the opportunity of assassinating 
 the Queen Regent." 
 
 " It will not be the first time they have tried," 
 put in the general. 
 
 " No ; but this time they will succeed, and it 
 is to be here to-morrow night, in Toledo. After 
 the Queen Regent's death, and in the confusion 
 that will supervene, the little Queen will disappear, 
 and then upon the rubbish-heap will spring up the 
 mushrooms, as they did in France, and this rubbish- 
 heap, like the other, will foul the air of all 
 Europe." 
 
 He shook his head pessimistically till the long, 
 wispy, gray hair waved from side to side, and his 
 left hand, resting on the wrist-bone on the table, 
 made an indescribable gesture that showed a foetid 
 air tainted by darksome growths. 
 
 There was a silence in the room, broken by no 
 outside sound but the clink of champed bits as the 
 horses stood in their traces below. Indeed, the 
 city of Toledo seemed strangely still this evening, 
 and the very air had a sense of waiting in it. The 
 priest sat and looked at his lifelong friend, his fur- 
 rowed face the incarnation of cynical hopelessness. 
 « What is, is worst," he seemed to say. His yel- 
 low, wise old eyes watched the quick face with the 
 air of one who, having posed an unsolvable prob- 
 lem, awaits with a sarcastic humour the admission 
 of failure.
 
 270 IN KEDAR'S TENTS 
 
 General Vincente, who had just finished his 
 wine, wiped his moustache delicately with his 
 pocket-handkerchief. He was thinking quickly, 
 systematically, as men learn to think under fire. 
 
 Perhaps, indeed, he had the thoughts half- 
 matured in his mind, as the greatest general the 
 world has seen confessed that he ever had, that he 
 was never taken quite by surprise. Vincente 
 smiled as he thought, a habit he had acquired on 
 the field, where a staff", and perhaps a whole army, 
 took its cue from his face and read the turn of 
 fortune there. Then he looked up straight at 
 Estella, who was watching him. 
 
 " Can you start on a journey now, in five min- 
 utes ? " he asked. 
 
 " Yes," she answered, rising and going toward 
 the door. 
 
 " Have you a white mantilla among your travel- 
 ling things ? " he asked again. 
 
 Estella turned at the doorway and nodded. 
 
 " Then take it with you and a cloak, but no 
 heavy luggage." 
 
 Estella closed the door. 
 
 " You can come with us ? " said the general to 
 Concha, half command, half interrogation. 
 
 " If you wish it." 
 
 " You may be wanted. I have a plan — a little 
 plan," and he gave a short laugh. " It may 
 succeed." 
 
 He went to a side-table, where some cold meats
 
 SWORDCRAFT 271 
 
 still stood,. and taking up a small chicken daintily 
 with a fork, he folded it in a napkin. 
 
 " It will be Saturday," he said simply, « before 
 we have reached our journey's end, and you will 
 be hungry. Have you a pocket ? " 
 
 " Has a priest a pocket ? " asked Concha, with 
 a grim humour, and he slipped the provisions into 
 the folds of his cassock. He was still eating a 
 biscuit hurriedly. 
 
 " I believe you have no money," said the gen- 
 eral, suddenly. 
 
 " 1 have only enough," admitted the old man, 
 " to take me back to Ronda, whither, by the way, 
 my duty calls me." 
 
 " I think not. Your Master can spare you for 
 a while ; my mistress cannot do without you." 
 
 At this moment Estella came back into the 
 room ready for her journey. The girl had changed 
 of late. Her face had lost a little roundness and 
 had gained exceedingly in expression. Her eyes, 
 too, were different. That change had come to 
 them which comes to all women between the ages 
 of twenty and thirty, quite irrespective of their 
 state. A certain restlessness or a quiet content 
 are what one usually sees in a woman's face. 
 Estella's eyes wore that latter look, which seems 
 to indicate a knowledge of the meaning of life 
 and a contentment that it should be no different. 
 
 Vincente was writing at the table. 
 
 " We shall want help," he said, without looking 
 up. " I am sending for a good man."
 
 272 IN KEDAR'S TENTS 
 
 And he smiled as he shook the small sand-caster 
 over the paper. 
 
 May one ask," said Concha, "where we are 
 
 a 
 
 going 
 u 
 
 We are going to Ciudad Real, my dear padre, 
 since you are so curious ; but we shall come back 
 — we shall come back." 
 
 He was writing another despatch as he spoke, 
 and at a sign from him Estella went to the door 
 and clapped her hands, the only method of sum- 
 moning a servant in general use at that time in 
 Spain. The call was answered by an orderly, who 
 stood at attention in the doorway for a full five 
 minutes while the general wrote further orders in 
 his neat, small caligraphy. There were half a 
 dozen letters in all, curt, military despatches, with- 
 out preamble and without mercy, for this soldier 
 conducted military matters in a singularly domestic 
 way, planning his campaigns by the fireside, and 
 bringing about the downfall of an enemy while 
 sitting in his daughter's drawing-room. Indeed, 
 Estella's blotting-book bore the impress of more 
 than one death-warrant, written casually on her 
 stationery and with her pen. 
 
 " Will you have the goodness to despatch those 
 at once ? " was the message taken by the orderly 
 to the general's aide-de-camp, and the gallopers, 
 who were always in readiness, smiled as they heard 
 the modest request. 
 
 " It will be pleasant to travel in the cool of the
 
 SWORDCRAFT 
 
 273 
 
 evening, provided that one guards against a chill," 
 said the general, making his final preparations. 
 " I require but a moment to speak to my faithful 
 aide-de-camp, and then we embark." 
 
 The moon was rising as the carriage rattled 
 across the bridge of Alcantara, and Larralde, tak- 
 ing the air between Wamba's Gate and the little 
 fort that guards the entrance to the city, recognised 
 the equipage as it passed him. He saw also the 
 outline of Concha's figure in the darkest corner 
 of the carriage, with his back to the horses, his 
 head bowed in meditation. Estella he saw and 
 recognised, while two mounted attendants, clatter- 
 ing in the rear of the carriage, testified by their 
 presence to the fact that the general had taken the 
 road again. 
 
 " It is well," said Larralde to himself. " They 
 are all going back to Ronda, and Julia will be rid 
 of their influence. Ronda will serve as well as 
 Toledo so far as Vincente is concerned, but I will 
 wait, to make sure that they are not losing sight of 
 him." 
 
 So Senor Larralde, cloaked to the eyebrows, 
 leant gracefully against the wall, and, like many 
 another upon the bridge after that breathless day, 
 drank in the cool air that rose from the river. 
 Presently, indeed before the sound of the distant 
 wheels was quite lost, two horsemen, cloaked and 
 provided with such light luggage as the saddle can 
 accommodate, rode leisurely through the gateway 
 
 18
 
 274 IN KEDAR'S TENTS 
 
 and up the incline that makes a short cut to the great 
 road running southward to Ciudad Real. Larralde 
 gave a little nod of self-confidence and satisfaction, 
 as one who, having conceived and built up a great 
 scheme, is pleased to see each component part of it 
 act independently and slip into its place. 
 
 The general's first thought was for Estella's 
 comfort, and he utilised the long hill, which they 
 had to ascend on leaving the town, to make such 
 arrangements as space would allow for their com- 
 mon ease. 
 
 " You must sleep, my child," he said. " We 
 cannot hope to reach Ciudad Real before midday 
 to-morrow, and it is as likely as not that we shall 
 have but a few hours' rest there." 
 
 And Estella, who had travelled vast distances 
 over vile roads so long as her memory went back, 
 who had never known what it is to live in a 
 country that is at peace, leant back in her corner 
 and closed her eyes. Had she really been disposed 
 to sleep, however, she could scarcely have done it, 
 for the general's solicitude manifested itself by a 
 hundred little devices for her greater repose. For 
 her comfort he made Concha move. 
 
 " An old traveller like you must shift for your- 
 self," he said gaily. 
 
 " No need to seek shelter for an old ox," replied 
 Concha, moving into the other corner, where he 
 carefully unfolded his pocket-handkerchief, and laid 
 it over his face, where, his long nose protruding,
 
 SWORDCRAFT 275 
 
 caused it to fall In fantastic folds. He clasped his 
 hands upon his hat, which lay upon his knee, and, 
 leaning back, presently began to snore gently and 
 regularly, a peaceful, sleep-inducing sound, and an 
 excellent example. The general, whose sword 
 seemed to take up half the carriage, still watched 
 Estella, and if the air made her mantilla flutter, 
 flew to the window with the solicitude of a lover 
 and a maternal noiselessness. Then, with one 
 hand on hers and the other grasping his sword, leant 
 back, but did not close his eyes. 
 
 Thus they travelled on through the luminous 
 night. The roads were neither worse nor better 
 than they are to-day in Spain, than they were in 
 England in the middle ages, and their way lay over 
 the hill ranges that lie between the watersheds of 
 the Tagus and the Guadiana. At times they 
 passed through well-tended valleys, where corn and 
 olives and vines seemed to grow on the same soil, 
 but for the greater part of the night they ascended 
 and descended the upper slopes, where herds of 
 goats, half awakened as they slept in a ring about 
 their guardian, looked at them with startled eyes. 
 The shepherds and goatherds, who, like those of 
 old, lay cloaked upon the ground and tended their 
 flocks by night, did not trouble to raise their 
 heads. 
 
 Concha alone slept, for the general had a thou- 
 sand thoughts that kept him awake and bright-eyed, 
 while Estella knew, from her father's manner and
 
 276 IN KEDAR'S TENTS 
 
 restlessness, that these were no small events that 
 now stirred Spain and seemed to close men's 
 mouths, so that near friends distrusted one another 
 and brother was divided against brother. Indeed, 
 others were on the road that night, and horsemen 
 passed the heavy carriage from time to time. 
 
 In the early morning a change of horses was 
 effected at a large inn near the summit of a pass 
 above Malagon, and here an orderly, who seemed 
 to recognise the general, was climbing into the sad- 
 dle as the Vincentes quitted their carriage and 
 passed into the common room of the venta for a 
 hasty cup of coffee. 
 
 " It is the Queen's courier," said the innkeeper, 
 grandly, " who takes the road before Her Majesty, 
 in order to secure horses." 
 
 " Ah ! " said the general, breaking his bread and 
 dropping it into his cup ; " is that so ? The 
 Queen Regent, you mean." 
 
 " Queen or Queen Regent, she requires four 
 horses this evening, excellency ; that is all my 
 concern." 
 
 " True, my friend — true. That is well said. 
 And the horses will be forthcoming, no doubt ? " 
 
 " They will be forthcoming," said the man ; 
 " and the excellency's carriage is ready." 
 
 In the early morning light they drove on, now 
 descending toward the great valley of the Guadi- 
 ana, and at midday, as Vincente had foreseen, 
 gained a sight of the ancient city of Ciudad Real, 
 lying amid trees below them.
 
 SWORDCRAFT 277 
 
 Ciudad .Real is less interesting than its name, 
 and there is little that is royal about its dirty streets 
 and ill-kept houses. No one gave great heed to 
 the travelling-carriage, for this is a great centre, 
 where travellers journeymg east or west, north or 
 south must needs pause for a change of horses. 
 At the inn there were vacant rooms and that hasty 
 welcome accorded to the traveller at wayside 
 houses, where none stay longer than they can 
 help. 
 
 " No," said the landlord, in answer to the gen- 
 eral's query ; " we are not busy, though we expect 
 a lady, who will pass the hour of the siesta here 
 and then proceed northward."
 
 CHAPTER XXVI 
 
 WOMANCRAFT 
 
 "II est rare que la tete des rois soit faite a la mesure 
 de leur couronne." 
 
 In the best room of the inn, where Vincente and 
 his tired companions sought a few hours' rest, there 
 sat alone and in thought a lady of middle age. 
 Somewhat stout, she yet had that air which arouses 
 the attention without being worthy of the name of 
 beauty. This lady had, doubtless, swayed men's 
 hearts by a word or a glance, for she still carried 
 herself with assurance, and a hundred little details 
 of her dress would have told another woman that 
 she still desired to please. 
 
 The hour of the siesta was over, and after the 
 great heat of the day a cool air was swaying down 
 on the bosom of the river to the parched lowlands. 
 It stirred the leaves of a climbing heliotrope, which 
 encircled the open windows and wafted into the 
 ill-furnished room a scent of stable-yard and dust. 
 
 The lady, sitting with her chin resting in the 
 palm of her small, white hand, seemed to have 
 lately roused herself from sleep, and now had the 
 expectant air of one who awaits a carriage and is 
 about to set out on a long journey. Her eyes
 
 WOMANCRAFT 279 
 
 were dark, and tired-looking, and their expression 
 was not that of a good woman. A sensual man is 
 usually weak, but women are different ; and this 
 face, with its faded complexion and tired eyes, this 
 woman of the majestic presence and beautiful 
 hands, was both strong and sensual. This, in a 
 word, was a queen who never forgot that she was a 
 woman. As it was said of the Princess Christina, 
 so it has been spoken of the Queen, that many had 
 killed themselves for hopeless love of her, for this 
 was the most dangerous of the world's creatures, a 
 royal coquette. Such would our own Queen Bess 
 have been, had not God, for the good of England, 
 given her a plain face and an ungainly form, for 
 surely the devil is in it when a woman can com- 
 mand both love and men. Queen Christina, since 
 the death of a husband, who was years older than 
 herself (and, as some say, before that historic event), 
 had played a woman's game with that skill which 
 men only half recognise, and had played it with 
 the additional incentive that behind her insatiable 
 vanity lay the heavier stake of a crown. 
 
 She is not the first to turn the strong current of 
 man's passion to her own deliberate gain ; nay, 
 ninety-nine out of a hundred women do it. But 
 the majority only play for a suburban villa and a 
 few hundred pounds a year; Queen Christina of 
 Spain handled her cards for a throne and the coun- 
 tenance of an ill-starred dynasty. 
 
 As she sat in the hotel chamber in Ciudad Real,
 
 2 8o IN KEDAR'S TENTS 
 
 that forlornest of royal cities, her face wore the 
 pettish look of one who, having passed through 
 great events, having tasted of great passions, and 
 moved amid the machinery of life and death, finds 
 the ordinary routine of existence intolerably irk- 
 some. Many faces wear such a look in this coun- 
 try — every second beautiful face in London has 
 it. And these women — Heaven help them ! — 
 find the morning hours dull because every after- 
 noon has not its great event, and every evening 
 the hollow excitement of a social function. 
 
 The Queen was travelling incognita, and that 
 fact alone robbed her progress of a sense of excite- 
 ment. She had to do without the shout of the 
 multitude, the passing admiration of the man in 
 the street. She knew that she was yet many 
 hours removed from Madrid, where she had ad- 
 mirers and the next best possession, enemies. 
 Ciudad Real was intolerably dull and provincial. 
 A servant knocked at the door. 
 
 "General Vincente, your Majesty, craves the 
 favour of a moment." 
 
 " Ah ! " exclaimed the Queen, the light return- 
 ing to her eyes, a faint colour flushing her cheek. 
 " In five minutes I will receive him." 
 
 And there is no need to say how the Queen 
 spent those minutes. 
 
 « Your Majesty," said the general, bending over 
 her hand, which he touched with his lips, " I have 
 news of the greatest importance."
 
 WOMANCRAFT 281 
 
 The suggestion of a scornful smile flickered for 
 a moment in the royal eyes. It was surely enough 
 for any man that she was a woman, beautiful still, 
 possessing still that intangible and fatal gift of 
 pleasing. The woman slowly faded from her eyes 
 as they rested on the great soldier's face, and the 
 Queen it was who, with a gracious gesture, bade 
 him be seated. But the general remained stand- 
 ing. He alone, perhaps, of all the men who had 
 to deal with her, of all those military puppets with 
 whom she played her royal game, had never crossed 
 that intangible boundary which many had over- 
 stepped to their own inevitable undoing. 
 
 " It concerns your Majesty's life," said Vincente, 
 bluntly, and calm in the certainty of his own 
 theory that good blood, whether it flow in the 
 veins of man or woman, assuredly carries a high 
 courage. 
 
 " Ah ! " said the Queen Regent, whose humour 
 still inclined toward those affairs which interested 
 her before the affairs of State ; " but with men 
 such as you about me, my dear general, what need 
 I fear ? " 
 
 " Treachery, madame," he answered, with his 
 sudden smile and a bow — " treachery ! ' : 
 
 The lady frowned. When a Queen stoops to 
 dalliance a subject must not be too practical. 
 
 " Ah ! what is it that concerns my life — ■ 
 another plot ? " she inquired shortly. 
 
 "Another plot, but one of greater importance
 
 282 IN KEDAR'S TENTS 
 
 than those that exist in the republican cafes of 
 every town in your Majesty's kingdom. This is 
 a wide-spread conspiracy, and I fear that many 
 powerful persons are concerned in it; but that, 
 your Majesty, is not my department nor concern." 
 
 " What is your concern, general ? " she asked, 
 looking at him over her fan. 
 
 " To save your Majesty's life to-night." 
 
 " To-night ! " she echoed, her coquetry gone. 
 
 " To-night." 
 
 " But how and where ? " 
 
 " By assassination, madame, in Toledo. You 
 are three hours late in your journey, but all 
 Toledo will be astir, awaiting you, though it be 
 till dawn." 
 
 The Queen Regent closed her fan slowly. She 
 was, as the rapid events of her reign and regency 
 proved, one of those women who rise to the 
 occasion. 
 
 " Then one must act at once," she said. 
 
 The general bowed. 
 
 " What have you done ? " she asked. 
 
 " I have sent to Madrid for a regiment that I 
 know. They are as my own children. I have 
 killed so many of them that the remainder love 
 me. I have travelled from Toledo to meet your 
 Majesty on the road here." 
 
 " And what means have you of preventing this 
 thing ? " 
 
 " I have brought the means with me, madame."
 
 WOMANCRAFT 283 
 
 " Troops ? " asked the Queen, doubtfully, know- 
 ing where the cankerworm lay hidden. 
 
 " A woman and a priest, madame." 
 
 "And . . . ?" 
 
 " And I propose that your Majesty journey to 
 Madrid in my carriage, attended only by my order- 
 lies, by way of Aranjuez. You will be safe in 
 Madrid, where the Queen will require her mother's 
 care." 
 
 " Yes ; and the remainder of your plan ? " 
 
 " I will travel back to Toledo in your Majesty's 
 carriage, with the woman and the priest and your 
 bodyguard, just as your Majesty is in the habit of 
 travelling. Toledo wants a fight, nothing else will 
 satisfy them. They shall have it before dawn — 
 the very best I have to offer them." 
 
 And General Vincente gave a queer, cheery 
 little laugh, as if he were arranging a practical 
 joke. 
 
 " But the fight will be round my carriage." 
 
 " Possibly. I would rather that it took place in 
 the Calle de la Ciudad or around the Casa del 
 Argantamiento, where your Majesty is expected to 
 sleep to-night." 
 
 " And these persons, this woman who risks her 
 life to save mine, who is she ? " 
 
 " My daughter," answered the general, gravely. 
 
 " She is here in the hotel now ? " 
 
 The general bowed. 
 
 " I have heard that she is beautiful," said the
 
 284 IN KEDAR'S TENTS 
 
 Queen, with a quick glance toward her companion. 
 " How is it that you have never brought her to 
 court, you who come so seldom yourself? " 
 
 Vincente made no reply. 
 
 " However, bring her to me now." 
 
 " She has travelled far, madame, and is not pre- 
 pared for presentation to her Queen." 
 
 " This is no time for formalities. She is about 
 to run a great risk for my sake, a greater risk than 
 I could ever ask her to run. Present her as one 
 woman to another, general." 
 
 But General Vincente bowed gravely and made 
 no reply. The colour slowly rose to the Queen 
 Regent's face, a dull, shamed red. She opened 
 her fan, closed it again, and sat with furtive, down- 
 cast eyes. Suddenly she looked up and met his 
 gaze. 
 
 " You refuse ! " she said, with an insolent air of 
 indifference. " You think that I am unworthy 
 to . . . meet your daughter." 
 
 " I think only of the exigency of the moment," 
 was his reply. " Every minute we lose is a gain 
 to our enemies. If our trick is discovered Aran- 
 juez will be no safer for your Majesty than is 
 Toledo. You must be safely in Madrid before 
 it is discovered in Toledo that you have taken the 
 other route, and that the person they have mis- 
 taken for you is in reality my daughter." 
 
 " But she may be killed ! " exclaimed the 
 Queen.
 
 WOMANCRAFT 285 
 
 cc 
 
 We may all be killed, madame," he replied 
 lightly. " I beg that you will start at once in my 
 carriage, with your chaplain and the holy lady who 
 is doubtless travelling with you." 
 
 The Queen glanced sharply at him. It was 
 known that, although her own life was anything 
 but exemplary, she loved to associate with women 
 who, under the cloak of religion and an austere 
 virtue, intrigued with all parties and condoned the 
 Queen's offences. 
 
 " I cannot understand you," she said, with that 
 sudden lapse into familiarity which had led to the 
 undoing of more than one ambitious courtier; 
 " you seem to worship the crown and despise the 
 head it rests on." 
 
 " So long as I serve your Majesty faithfully ..." 
 
 " But you have no right to despise me ! " she 
 interrupted passionately. 
 
 " If I despised you should I be here now, should 
 I be doing you this service ? " 
 
 " I do not know. I tell you I do not under- 
 stand you." 
 
 And the Queen looked hard at the man who for 
 this very reason interested one who had all her 
 life dealt and intrigued with men of obvious motive 
 and unblushing ambition. 
 
 So strong is a ruling passion, that even in sight 
 of death (for the Queen Regent knew that Spain was 
 full of her enemies and rendered callous to blood- 
 shed by a long war) vanity was alert in this
 
 286 IN KEDAR'S TENTS 
 
 woman's breast. Even while General Vincente, 
 that unrivalled strategist, detailed his plans, she 
 kept harking back to the question that puzzled her, 
 and but half listened to his instructions. 
 
 Those desirous of travelling without attracting 
 attention in Spain are wise to time their arrival and 
 departure for the afternoon. At this time, while 
 the sun is yet hot, all shutters are closed, and the 
 business of life, the haggling in the market-place, 
 the bustle of the barrack-yard, the leisurely labour 
 of the fields are suspended. It was about four 
 o'clock ; indeed, the city clocks were striking that 
 hour when the two carriages in the inn yard at 
 Ciudad Real were made ready for the road. 
 Father Concha, who never took an active part in 
 passing incidents while his old friend and comrade 
 was near, sat in a shady corner of the patio and 
 smoked a cigarette. An affable ostler had, in vain, 
 endeavoured to engage him in conversation. Two 
 small children had begged of him, and now he was 
 left in meditative solitude. 
 
 " In a short three minutes," said the ostler, 
 " and the excellencies can then depart. In which 
 direction, reverendo, if one may ask ? ' 
 
 " One may always ask, my friend," replied the 
 priest. " Indeed, the holy books are of opinion 
 that it cannot be overdone. That chin-strap is 
 too tight." 
 
 " Ah ! I see the reverendo knows a horse . . ." 
 
 " And an ass," added Concha.
 
 WOMANCRAFT 287 
 
 At this • moment the general emerged from the 
 shadow of the staircase, which was open and of 
 stone. He was followed by Estella, as it would 
 appear, and they hurried across the sunlighted 
 patio, the girl carrying her fan to screen her face. 
 
 " Are you rested, my child ? " asked Concha, at 
 the carriage door. 
 
 The lady lowered the fan for a moment and met 
 his eyes. A quick look of surprise flashed across 
 Concha's face, and he half bowed. Then he 
 repeated his question in a louder voice. 
 
 " Are you rested, my child, after our long 
 journey ? " 
 
 " Thank you, my father, yes." 
 
 And the ostler watched with open-mouthed 
 interest. 
 
 The other carriage had been drawn up to that 
 side of the courtyard where the open stairway was, 
 and here also the bustle of departure and a hurry- 
 ing female form, anxious to gain the shade of the 
 vehicle, were discernible. It was all done so 
 quickly, with such a military completeness of de- 
 tail, that the carriages had passed through the great 
 doorway, and the troopers, merely a general's escort, 
 had clattered after them before the few onlookers 
 had fully realised that these were surely travellers 
 of some note. 
 
 The ostler hurried to the street to watch them go. 
 
 ** They are going to the north," he said to him- 
 self, as he saw the carriages turn in the direction
 
 288 IN KEDAR'S TENTS 
 
 of the river and the ancient Puerta de Toledo — 
 " they go to the north, and assuredly the general 
 has come to conduct her to Toledo." 
 
 Strange to say, although it was the hour of rest, 
 many shutters in the narrow street were opened, 
 and more than one peeping face was turned toward 
 the departing carriages.
 
 CHAPTER XXVII 
 
 A NIGHT JOURNEY 
 
 "Let me but bear your love, I '11 bear your cares." 
 
 At the cross-roads, on the northern side of the 
 river, the two carriages parted company, the dusty 
 equipage of General Vincente taking the road to 
 Aranjuez, that leads to the right and mounts 
 steadily through olive groves. The other car- 
 riage, which, despite its plain and sombre colours, 
 still had an air of grandeur and almost of royalty, 
 with its great wheels and curved springs, turned to 
 the left and headed for Toledo. Behind it clat- 
 tered a dozen troopers, picked men with huge, 
 swinging swords and travel-stained clothes. The 
 dust rose in a cloud under the horses' feet and 
 hovered in the sallow air. There was no breath 
 of wind, and the sun shone through a faint haze, 
 which seemed only to add to the heat. 
 
 Concha lowered the window and thrust forward 
 his long, inquiring nose. 
 
 " What is it ? " asked the general. 
 
 " Thunder ; I smell it. We shall have a storm 
 to-night." He looked out, mopping his nose. 
 " Name of a saint, how thick the air is ! " 
 
 19
 
 290 IN KEDAR'S TENTS 
 
 " It will be clear before the morning," said 
 Vincente, the optimist. 
 
 And the carriage rattled on toward the city of 
 strife, where Jew, Goth, and Roman, Moor and 
 Inquisitor have all had their day. Estella was silent, 
 drooping with fatigue. The general alone seemed 
 unmoved and heedless of the heat, a man of steel, 
 as bright and ready as his own sword. 
 
 There is no civilised country in the world so bare 
 as Spain, and no part of the Peninsula so sparsely 
 populated as the Castiles. The road ran for the 
 most part over brown and barren uplands, with here 
 and there a valley where wheat and olives and vine- 
 yards graced the lower slopes. The crying need 
 of all nature was for shade, for the ilex is a small- 
 leaved tree, giving a thin shadow, with no cool 
 depths amid the branches. All was brown and 
 barren and parched. The earth seemed to lie faint- 
 ing and awaiting the rain. The horses trotted 
 with extended necks and open mouths, their coats 
 wet with sweat. The driver, an Andalusian, with 
 a face like a Moorish pirate, kept encouraging 
 them with word and rein, jerking and whipping 
 only when they seemed likely to fall from sheer 
 fatigue and sun-weariness. At last the sun set in 
 a glow like that of a great furnace, and the reflec- 
 tion lay over the land in ruddy splendour. 
 
 " Ah ! " said Concha, looking out ; " it will be 
 a great storm, and it will soon come." 
 
 Vast columns of cloud were climbing up from
 
 A NIGHT JOURNEY 291 
 
 the sunset into a sullen sky, thrown up in spread- 
 ing mare's-tails by a hundred contrary gusts of 
 wind, as if there were explosive matter in the great 
 furnace of the west. 
 
 " Nature is always on my side," said Vincente, 
 with his chuckling laugh. He sat, watch in hand, 
 noting the passage of the kilometres. 
 
 At last the sun went down behind a distant line 
 of hill, the watershed of the Tagus, and imme- 
 diately the air was cool. Without stopping, the 
 driver wrapped his cloak round him, and the 
 troopers followed his example. A few minutes 
 later a cold breeze sprung up suddenly, coming 
 from the north and swirling the dust high in the air. 
 
 " It is well," said Vincente, who assuredly saw 
 good in everything ; " the wind comes first, and 
 therefore the storm will be short." 
 
 As he spoke the thunder rolled among the hills. 
 
 " It is almost like guns," he added, with a queer 
 look in his eyes suggestive of some memory. 
 
 Then, preceded by a rushing wind, the rain 
 came, turning to hail, and stopping suddenly in a 
 breathless pause, only to recommence with a re- 
 newed and splashing vigour. Concha drew up 
 the windows, and the water streamed down them 
 in a continuous ripple. Estella, who had been 
 sleeping, roused herself. She looked fresh, and 
 her eyes were bright with excitement. She had 
 brought home with her from her English school 
 that air of freshness and a dainty vigour which
 
 292 IN KEDAR'S TENTS 
 
 makes Englishwomen different from all other 
 women in the world, and an English school-girl 
 assuredly the brightest, purest, and sweetest of 
 God's creatures. 
 
 Concha looked at her with his grim smile, 
 amused at a youthfulness which could enable her 
 to fall asleep at such a time and wake up so man- 
 ifestly refreshed. 
 
 A halt was made at a roadside venta, where the 
 travellers partook of a hurried meal. Darkness 
 came on before the horses were sufficiently rested, 
 and by the light of an ill-smelling lamp the general 
 had his inevitable cup of coffee. The rain had 
 now ceased, but the sky remained overcast, and the 
 night was a dark one. The travellers took their 
 places in the carriage, and again the monopoly of 
 the road, the steady trot of the horses, the sing- 
 song words of encouragement of their driver mo- 
 nopolised the thoughts of sleepy minds. It seemed 
 to Estella that life was all journeys, and that she 
 had been on the road for years. The swing of 
 the carriage, the little varieties of the road, but 
 served to add to her somnolence. She only half 
 woke up when, about ten o'clock, a halt was made 
 to change horses, and the general quitted the car- 
 riage for a few minutes to talk earnestly with two 
 horsemen who were apparently awaiting their 
 arrival. No time was lost here, and the carriage 
 went forward with an increased escort. The two 
 newcomers rode by the carriage, one on either side.
 
 A NIGHT JOURNEY 293 
 
 When Estella woke up the moon had risen, and 
 the carriage was making slow progress up a long 
 hill. She noticed that a horseman was on either 
 side, close by the carriage window. 
 
 " Who is that ? " she asked. 
 
 " Conyngham," replied the general. 
 
 " You sent for him ? " inquired Estella, in a hard 
 voice. 
 
 « Yes." 
 
 Estella was wakeful enough now, and sat upright, 
 looking straight in front of her. At times she 
 glanced toward the window, which was now open, 
 where the head of Conyngham's charger appeared. 
 The horse trotted steadily, with a queer jerk of the 
 head, and that willingness to do his best, which 
 gains for horses a place in the hearts of all who 
 have to do with them. 
 
 " Will there be righting ? " asked Estella, suddenly. 
 
 The general shrugged his shoulders. 
 
 " One cannot call it fighting. There may be a 
 disturbance in the streets," he answered. 
 
 Concha, quiet in his corner, with his back to the 
 horses, watched the girl, and saw that her eyes were 
 wide with anxiety now, quite suddenly, she who 
 had never thought of fear till this moment. She 
 moved uneasily in her seat, fidgeting as the young 
 ever do when troubled. It is only with the years 
 that we learn to bear a burden quietly. 
 
 " Who is that ? " she asked shortly, pointing to 
 the other window, which was closed.
 
 294 IN KEDAR'S TENTS 
 
 " Concepcion Vara, Conyngham's servant," 
 replied the general, who for some reason was 
 inclined to curtness in his speech. 
 
 They were approaching Toledo, and passed 
 through a village from time to time, where the 
 cafes were still lighted up, and people seemed to 
 be astir in the shadow of the houses. At last, in 
 the main thoroughfare of a larger village, within a 
 stage of Toledo, a final halt was made to change 
 horses. The street, dimly lighted by a couple of 
 oil lamps, swinging from gibbets at the corners of 
 a cross-road, seemed to be peopled by shadows 
 surreptitiously lurking in doorways. There was a 
 false air of quiet in the houses, and peeping eyes 
 looked out from the bars that covered every win- 
 dow, for even modern Spanish houses are barred, 
 as if for a siege, and in the ancient villages every 
 man's house is, indeed, his castle. 
 
 The driver had left the box, and seemed to be 
 having some trouble with the ostlers and stable 
 helps, for his voice could be heard raised in anger, 
 and urging them to greater haste. 
 
 Conyngham, motionless in the saddle, touched 
 his horse with his heel, advancing a few paces, so 
 as to screen the window. Concepcion, on the 
 other side, did the same, so that the travellers in 
 the interior of the vehicle saw but the dark shape 
 of the horses and the long cloaks of their riders. 
 They could perceive Conyngham quickly throw 
 back his cape in order to have a free hand. Then
 
 A NIGHT JOURNEY 295 
 
 there came the sound of scuffling feet, and an 
 indefinable sense of strife in the very air. 
 
 " But we will see — we will see who is in the 
 carriage ! " cried a shrill voice, and a hoarse shout 
 from many bibulous throats confirmed the desire. 
 
 " Quick ! " said Conyngham's voice — " quick ! 
 Take your reins ; never mind the lamps ! " 
 
 And the carriage swayed as the man leapt to his 
 place. Estella made a movement to look out of 
 the window, but Concha had stood up against it, 
 opposing his broad back alike to curious glances 
 or a knife or a bullet. At the other window, the 
 general, better versed in such matters, held the 
 leather cushion upon which he had been sitting 
 across the sash. With his left hand he restrained 
 Estella. 
 
 " Keep still," he said. " Sit back. Conyngham 
 can take care of himself." 
 
 The carriage swayed forward, and a volley of 
 stones rattled on it like hail. It rose jerkily on 
 one side and bumped over some obstacle. 
 
 " One who has his quietus," said Concha. 
 " These royal carriages are heavy." 
 
 The horses were galloping now. Concha sat 
 down, rubbing his back. Conyngham was gallop- 
 ing by the window, and they could see his spur 
 flashing in the moonlight as he used it. The reins 
 hung loose and both his hands were employed else- 
 where, for he had a man half across the saddle in 
 front of him, who held to him with one arm thrown
 
 296 IN KEDAR'S TENTS 
 
 round his neck, while the other was raised and a 
 gleam of steel was at the end of it. Concepcion, 
 from the other side, threw a knife over the roof of 
 the carriage — he could hit a cork at twenty paces 
 — but he missed this time. 
 
 The general from within leant across Estella, 
 sword in hand, with gleaming eyes. But Conyng- 
 ham seemed to have got the hold he desired, for 
 his assailant came suddenly swinging over the horse's 
 neck, and one of his flying heels crashed through 
 the window by Concha's head, making that eccle- 
 siastic swear like any layman. The carriage was 
 lifted on one side again and bumped heavily. 
 
 " Another," said Concha, looking for broken 
 glass in the folds of his cassock. " That is a pretty 
 trick of Conyngham's." 
 
 " And the man is a horseman," added the general, 
 sheathing his sword — "a horseman. It warms the 
 heart to see it." 
 
 Then he leant out of the window and asked if 
 any were hurt. 
 
 " 1 am afraid, excellency, that I hurt one," 
 answered Vara — " where the neck joins the shoul- 
 der. It is a pretty spot for the knife, nothing to 
 turn a point." 
 
 He rubbed a sulphur match on the leg of his 
 trousers, and lighted a cigarette as he rode along. 
 
 " On our side no accidents," continued Vara, 
 with a careless grandeur, " unless the reverendo 
 received a kick in the face."
 
 A NIGHT JOURNEY 297 
 
 " The reverendo received a stone in the small of 
 the back," growled Concha, pessimistically, " where 
 there was already a corner of lumbago." 
 
 Conyngham, standing in his stirrups, was looking 
 back. A man lay motionless on the road, and 
 beyond, at the cross-roads, another was riding up a 
 hill to the right at a hard gallop. 
 
 " It is the road to Madrid," said Concepcion, 
 noting the direction of the Englishman's glance. 
 
 The general, leaning out of the carriage window, 
 was also looking back anxiously. 
 
 " They have sent a messenger to Madrid, excel- 
 lency, with the news that the Queen is on the road 
 to Toledo," said Concepcion. 
 
 " It is well," answered Vincente, with a laugh. 
 
 As they journeyed, although it was nearly mid- 
 night, there appeared from time to time, and for 
 the most part in the neighbourhood of a village, 
 one who seemed to have been awaiting their pas- 
 sage, and immediately set out on foot or horseback 
 by one of the shorter bridle-paths that abound in 
 Spain. No one of these spies escaped the notice 
 of Concepcion, whose training amid the mountains 
 of Andalusia had sharpened his eyesight and added 
 keenness to every sense. 
 
 " It is like a cat walking down an alley full of 
 dogs," he muttered. 
 
 At last the lights of Toledo hove in sight, and 
 across the river came the sound of the city clocks 
 tolling the hour.
 
 298 IN KEDAR'S TENTS 
 
 " Midnight," said Concha, " and all respectable 
 folk are in their beds. At night all cats are gray." 
 
 No one heeded him. Estella was sitting upright, 
 bright-eyed and wakeful. The general looked out 
 of the window at every moment. Across the river 
 they could see lights moving, and many houses that 
 had been illuminated were suddenly dark. 
 
 " See," said the general, leaning out of the win- 
 dow and speaking to Conyngham ; " they have 
 heard the sound of our wheels." 
 
 At the farther end of the Bridge of Alcantara, 
 on the road which now leads to the railway station, 
 two horsemen were stationed, hidden in the shadow 
 of the trees that border the pathway. 
 
 " Those should be guardia civile" said Concep- 
 cion, who had studied the ways of these gentry all 
 his life, " but they are not. They have horses 
 that have never been taught to stand still." 
 
 As he spoke the men vanished, moving noise- 
 lessly in the thick dust which lay on the Madrid 
 road. 
 
 The general saw them go and smiled. These 
 men carried word to their fellows in Madrid for 
 the seizure of the little Queen. But before they 
 could reach the capital the Queen Regent herself 
 would be there, a woman in a thousand, of inflexible 
 nerve, of infinite resource. 
 
 The carriage rattled over the narrow bridge, 
 which rings hollow to the sound of wheels. It 
 passed under the gate that Wamba built, and up
 
 A NIGHT JOURNEY 299 
 
 the tree-girt incline to the city. The streets were 
 deserted, and no window showed a light. A watch- 
 man in his shelter at the corner by the synagogue 
 peered at them over the folds of his cloak, and 
 noting the clank of scabbard against spur, paid no 
 further heed to a traveller who took the road with 
 such outward signs of authority. 
 
 " It is still enough and quiet," said Concha, 
 looking out. 
 
 " As quiet as a watching cat," replied Vincente.
 
 CHAPTER XXVIII 
 
 THE CITY OF STRIFE 
 
 " What lot is mine, 
 Whose foresight preaches peace, my heart so slow 
 To feel it?" 
 
 Through these quiet streets the party clattered 
 noisily enough, for the rain had left the round 
 stones slippery, and the horses were too tired for 
 a sure step. There were no lights at the street 
 corners, for these had been extinguished at mid- 
 night, and the only glimmer of a lamp that relieved 
 the darkness was shining through the stained-glass 
 windows of the cathedral, where the sacred oil 
 burnt night and day. 
 
 The Queen was evidently expected at the Casa 
 del Ayuntamiento, for at the approach of the car- 
 riage the great doors were thrown open and a 
 number of servants appeared in the patio, which 
 was but dimly lighted. By the general's orders 
 the small bodyguard passed through the doors, 
 which were then closed, instead of continuing their 
 way to the barracks in the Alcazar. 
 
 This Casa del Ayuntamiento stands, as many 
 travellers know, in the plaza of the same name, 
 and faces the cathedral, which is, without doubt,
 
 THE CITY OF STRIFE 301 
 
 the oldest, as it assuredly is the most beautiful 
 church in the world. The Mansion House of 
 Toledo, in addition to some palatial halls, which 
 are of historic renown, has several suites of rooms, 
 used from time to time by great personages passing 
 through or visiting the city. The house itself is 
 old, as we esteem age in England, while in com- 
 parison to the buildings around it is modern. 
 Built, however, at a period when beauty of archi- 
 tecture was secondary to power of resistance, the 
 place is strong enough, and General Vincente 
 smiled happily as the great doors were closed. He 
 was the last to look out into the streets and across 
 the little Plaza del Ayuntamiento, which was 
 deserted and looked peaceful enough in the light of 
 a waning moon. 
 
 The carriage door was opened by a lackey, and 
 Conyngham gave Estella his hand. All the ser- 
 vants bowed as she passed up the stairs, her face 
 screened by the folds of her white mantilla. . There 
 was a queer hush in the great house and in the 
 manner of the servants. The cathedral clock 
 rang out the half hour. The general led the way 
 to the room on the first floor that overlooks the 
 Plaza del Ayuntamiento. It is a vast apartment 
 hung with tapestries and pictures, such as men 
 travel many miles to see. The windows, which 
 are large in proportion to the height of the room, 
 open upon a stone balcony, which runs the length 
 of the house, and looks down upon the plaza and
 
 302 IN KEDAR'S TENTS 
 
 across this to the great facade of the cathedral. 
 Candles hurriedly lighted made the room into a 
 very desert of shadows. At the far end a table 
 was spread with cold meats, and lighted by high 
 silver candelabras. 
 
 " Ah ! " said Concha, going toward the supper- 
 table. 
 
 Estella turned, and for the first time met Con- 
 yngham's eyes. His face startled her, it was so 
 grave. 
 
 "Were you hurt?" she asked sharply. 
 
 " Not this time, senorita." 
 
 Then she turned with a sudden laugh toward 
 her father. 
 
 " Did I play my part well ? " she asked. 
 
 " Yes, my child ; " and even he was grave. 
 
 " Unless I am mistaken," he continued, glanc- 
 ing at the shuttered windows, « we have only 
 begun our task." He was reading as he spoke 
 some despatches, which a servant had handed to 
 him. 
 
 " There is one advantage in a soldier's life," he 
 said, smiling at Conyngham, "which is not, I 
 think, sufficiently recognised — namely, that one's 
 duty is so often clearly defined. At the present 
 moment it is a question of keeping up the decep- 
 tion we have practised upon these good people of 
 Toledo sufficiently long to enable the Queen 
 Regent to reach Madrid. In order to make cer- 
 tain of this we must lead the people to understand
 
 THE CITY OF STRIFE 303 
 
 that the Queen is in this house until, at least, day- 
 light. Given so much advantage, I think that 
 Her Majesty can reach the capital an hour before 
 any messenger from Toledo. Two horsemen 
 quitted the bridge of Alcantara as we crossed it, 
 riding toward Madrid, but they will not reach the 
 capital. I have seen to that." 
 
 He paused and walked to one of the long win- 
 dows, which he opened. The outer shutters re- 
 mained closed, and he did not unbar them, but 
 stood listening. 
 
 " All is still as yet," he said, returning to the 
 the table, where Father Concha was philosophically 
 cutting up a cold chicken. 
 
 " That is a good idea of yours," he said ; " we 
 may all require our full forces of mind and body 
 before the dawn." 
 
 He drew forward a chair, and Estella, obeying 
 his gesture, sat down, and so far controlled her 
 feelings as to eat a little. 
 
 " Do queens always feed on old birds, such as 
 this ? " asked Concha, discontentedly, and Vincente, 
 spreading out his napkin, laughed with gay good 
 humour. 
 
 " Before the dawn," he said to Conyngham, 
 " we may all be great men, and the good padre 
 here on the high road to a bishopric." 
 
 " He would rather be in bed," muttered Concha, 
 with his mouth full. 
 
 It was a queer scene, such as we only act i 
 
 in
 
 304 IN KEDAR'S TENTS 
 
 real life. The vast room, with its gorgeous hang- 
 ings, the flickering candles, the table spread with 
 delicacies, and the strange party seated at it ; 
 Concha, eating steadily ; the general, looking round 
 with his domesticated little smile ; Estella, with a 
 new light in her eyes and a new happiness on her 
 face ; Conyngham, a giant among these Southern- 
 ers, in his dust-laden uniform, — all made up a 
 picture that none forgot. 
 
 " They will probably attack this place," said 
 the general, pouring out a glass of wine ; " but the 
 house is a strong one. I cannot rely on the regi- 
 ments stationed at Toledo, and have sent to 
 Madrid for cavalry. There is nothing like cav- 
 alry ... in the streets. We can stand a siege 
 . . . till the dawn." 
 
 He turned, looking over his shoulder toward the 
 door, for he had heard a footstep, unnoticed by 
 the others. It was Concepcion Vara, who came 
 into the room coatless, his face gray with dust, 
 adding a startling and picturesque incongruity to 
 the scene. 
 
 " Pardon, excellency," he said, with that easy 
 grasp of the situation, which always made an 
 utterly disconcerted smuggler of him, " but there 
 is one in the house whom, I think, his excellency 
 should speak with." 
 
 "Ah!" 
 
 " The Senorita Barenna." 
 
 The general rose from the table.
 
 THE CITY OF STRIFE 305 
 
 " How did she get in here ? " he asked sharply. 
 
 " By the side door in the Calle de la Ciudad. 
 The keeper of that door, excellency, is a mule. 
 The Senorita forced him to admit her. The sex 
 can do so much," he added, with a tolerant shrug 
 of his shoulders. 
 
 " And the other, this Larralde ? " 
 
 Concepcion raised his hand with outspread fin- 
 gers, and shook it slowly from side to side, from 
 the wrist, with the palm turned toward his inter- 
 locutor, which seemed to indicate that the subject 
 was an unpleasant, almost an indelicate one. 
 
 " Larralde, excellency," he said, " is one of 
 those who are never found at the front. He will 
 not be in Toledo to-night, that Larralde." 
 
 " Where is the Senorita Barenna ? " asked the 
 general. 
 
 " She is downstairs, commanding his excellency's 
 soldiers to let her pass." 
 
 " You go down, my friend, and bring her here. 
 Then take that door yourself." 
 
 Concepcion bowed ceremoniously and withdrew. 
 He might have been an ambassador, and his salu- 
 tation was worthy of an Imperial Court. 
 
 A moment later Julia Barenna came into the 
 room, her dark eyes wide with terror, her face pale 
 and drawn. 
 
 " Where is the Queen Regent ? " she asked, 
 looking from one face to the other, and seeing all 
 her foes assembled as if by magic before her. 
 
 20
 
 3 o6 IN KEDAR'S TENTS 
 
 " Her Majesty is on the road between Aranjuez 
 and Madrid, in safety, my dear Julia," replied the 
 general, soothingly. 
 
 " But they think she is here. The people are 
 in the streets. Look out of the window. They 
 are in the plaza." 
 
 " I know it, my dear," said the general. 
 
 " They are armed ; they are going to attack 
 this house . . ." 
 
 " I am aware of it." 
 
 " Their plan is to murder the Queen." 
 
 " So we understand," said the general, gently. 
 He had a horror of anything approaching sen- 
 sation or a scene, a feeling which Spaniards 
 share with Englishmen. " That is the Queen for 
 the time being," added Vincente, pointing to 
 Estella. 
 
 Julia stood looking from one to the other, a self- 
 contained woman made strong by love, for there 
 is nothing in life or human experience that raises 
 and strengthens man or woman so much as a great 
 and abiding love. But Julia was driven and almost 
 panic-stricken. She held herself in control by an 
 effort that was drawing lines in her face never to 
 be wiped out. 
 
 " But you will tell them. I will do it. Let 
 me go to them. I am not afraid." 
 
 "No one must leave this house now," said the 
 general. " You have come to us, my dear, you 
 must now throw in your lot with ours."
 
 THE CITY OF STRIFE 307 
 
 " But Estella must not take this risk ! " ex- 
 claimed Julia. " Let me do it." 
 
 And some woman's instinct sent her to Estella's 
 side, two women alone in that great house amid 
 this man's work and strife of reckless politicians. 
 
 " And you and Senor Conyngham," she cried j 
 tc you must not run this great risk." 
 
 " It is what we are paid for, my dear Julia," 
 answered the general, holding out his arm and indi- 
 cating the gold stripes upon it. 
 
 He walked to the window and opened the mas- 
 sive shutters, which swung back heavily. Then 
 he stepped out on to the balcony without fear or 
 hesitation. 
 
 " See," he said, " the square is full of them." 
 
 He came back into the room, and Conyngham, 
 standing beside him, looked down into the moonlit 
 plaza. The square was, indeed, thronged with 
 dark and silent shadows, while others, stealing 
 from the doorways and narrow alleys, with which 
 Toledo abounded, joined the group with stealthy 
 steps. No one spoke, though the sound of their 
 whispering arose in the still night-air like the mur- 
 mur of a breeze through reeds. A hundred faces 
 peered upward through the darkness at the two 
 intrepid figures on the balcony. 
 
 " And these are Spaniards, my dear Conyng- 
 ham," whispered the general — "a hundred of 
 them against one woman. Name of God, I blush 
 for them ! "
 
 308 IN KEDAR'S TENTS 
 
 The throng increased every moment, and witha! 
 the silence never lifted, but brooded breathlessly 
 over the ancient town. Instead of living men, 
 these might well have been the shades of the 
 countless and forgotten dead, who had come to 
 a violent end in the streets of a city where Peace 
 has never found a home since the days of 
 Nebuchadnezzar. 
 
 Vincente came back into the room, leaving 
 shutter and window open. 
 
 " They cannot see in," he said, " the building 
 is too high. And across the plaza there is noth- 
 ing but the cathedral, which has no windows 
 accessible without ladders." 
 
 He paused, looking at his watch. 
 
 " They are in doubt," he said, speaking to 
 Conyngham, " they are not sure that the Queen 
 is here. We will keep them in doubt for a short 
 time. Every minute lost by them is an inesti- 
 mable gain to us. That open window will whet 
 their curiosity, and give them something to whis- 
 per about. It is so easy to deceive a crowd." 
 
 He sat down and began to peel a peach. Julia 
 looked at him, wondering wherein this man's 
 greatness lay, and yet perceiving dimly that against 
 such as he men like Esteban Larralde could do 
 nothing. 
 
 Concha, having supped satisfactorily, was now 
 sitting back in his chair, seeking for something 
 in the pockets of his cassock.
 
 THE CITY OF STRIFE 309 
 
 " It is to be presumed," he said, " that one may 
 smoke, even in a palace." 
 
 And under their gaze he quietly lighted a cigar- 
 ette, with the deliberation of one in whom a long 
 solitary life had bred habits only to be broken at 
 last by death. 
 
 Presently the general rose and went to the win- 
 dow again. 
 
 "They are still doubtful," he said, returning, 
 " and I think their numbers have decreased. We 
 cannot allow them to disperse." 
 
 He paused, thinking deeply. 
 
 " My child," he said suddenly to Estella, " you 
 must show yourself on the balcony." 
 
 Estella rose at once, but Julia held her back. 
 
 " No," she said ; " let me do it. Give me the 
 white mantilla." 
 
 There was a momentary silence, while Estella 
 freed herself from her cousin's grasp. Conyng- 
 ham looked at the woman he loved while she stood, 
 little more than a child, with something youthful 
 and inimitably graceful in the lines of her throat 
 and averted face. Would she accept Julia's offer ? 
 Conyngham bit his lips and awaited her decision. 
 Then, as if divining his thought, she turned and 
 looked at him gravely. 
 
 " No," she said ; " I will do it." 
 
 She went toward the window. Her father and 
 Conyngham had taken their places, one on each 
 side, as if she were the Queen indeed. She stood
 
 3 io IN KEDAR'S TENTS 
 
 for a moment on the threshold, and then passed 
 out into the moonlight alone. Immediately there 
 arose the most terrifying of all earthly sounds, the 
 dull, antagonistic roar of a thousand angry throats. 
 Estella walked to the front of the balcony and 
 stood, with an intrepidity which was worthy of 
 the royal woman whose part she played, look- 
 ing down on the upturned faces. A red flash 
 streaked the darkness of a far corner of the square, 
 and a bullet whistled through the open window 
 into the wood-work of a mirror. 
 
 " Come back," whispered General Vincente. 
 " Slowly, my child, slowly." 
 
 Estella stood for a moment looking down with 
 a royal insolence, then turned, and with measured 
 steps approached the window. As she passed in 
 she met Conyngham's eyes, and that one moment 
 assuredly made two lives worth living.
 
 CHAPTER XXIX 
 
 MIDNIGHT AND DAWN 
 
 " I have set my life upon a cast, 
 And I will stand the hazard of the die." 
 
 " Excellency," reported a man, who entered the 
 room at this moment, " they are bringing carts 
 of fuel through the Calle de la Ciudad to set 
 against the door and burn it." 
 
 " To set against which door, my honest friend ?" 
 
 " The great door on the plaza, excellency. 
 The other is an old door of iron." 
 
 " And they cannot burn it or break it open ? " 
 
 " No, excellency ; and, besides, there are loop- 
 holes in the thickness of the wall at the side." 
 
 The general smiled on this man as being after 
 his own heart. 
 
 " One may not shoot to-night, my friend. I 
 have already given the order." 
 
 " But one may prick them with the sword, 
 excellency," suggested the trooper, with a sort of 
 suppressed enthusiasm. 
 
 The general shrugged his shoulders, wisely 
 tolerant. 
 
 " Oh, yes," he answered ; " I suppose one may 
 prick them with the sword."
 
 3 i2 IN KEDAR'S TENTS 
 
 Conyngham, who had been standing half in and 
 half out of the open window listening to this con- 
 versation, now came forward. 
 
 " I think," he said, " that I can clear the plaza 
 from time to time if you give me twenty men. 
 We can thus gain time." 
 
 " Street-fighting," answered the general, gravely, 
 " do you know anything of it ? It is nasty work." 
 
 " I know something of it. One has to shout 
 very loud. I studied it at Dublin University." 
 
 " To be sure ; I forgot." 
 
 Julia and Estella watched and listened. Their 
 lot had been cast in the paths of war, and since 
 childhood they had remembered naught else. But 
 neither had yet been so near to the work, nor 
 had they seen and heard men talk and plan with a 
 certain grim humour, a curt and deliberate scorn 
 of haste or excitement, as these men spoke and 
 planned now. Conyngham and Concepcion Vara 
 were altered by these circumstances — there was 
 a light in their eyes which women rarely see ; 
 but the general was the same little man of peace 
 and of high domestic virtue, who seemed embar- 
 rassed by a sword which was obviously too big for 
 him. Yet in all their voices there rang a queer 
 note of exultation, for man is a fighting animal, 
 and (from St. Paul down to the humblest little 
 five-foot-one " recruit ") would find life a dull 
 affair were there no strife in it. 
 
 " Yes," said the general, after a moment's renec-
 
 MIDNIGHT AND DAWN 313 
 
 tion, " that is a good idea, and will gain time. But 
 let them first bring their fuel and set it up. Every 
 moment is a gain." 
 
 At this instant some humourist in the crowd 
 threw a stone in at the open window. The old 
 priest picked up the missile and examined it 
 curiously. 
 
 " It is fortunate," he said, " that the stones are 
 fixed in Toledo. In Xeres they are loose and 
 always in the air. I wonder if I can hit a 
 citizen." 
 
 And he threw the stone back. 
 
 " Close the shutters," said the general. " Let 
 us avoid arousing ill-feeling." 
 
 The priest drew the jalousies together, but did 
 not quite shut them. Vincente stood and looked 
 out through the aperture at the moonlit square and 
 the dark shadows moving there. 
 
 " I wish they would shout," he said ; " it is un- 
 natural. They are like children. When there is 
 noise there is little mischief." 
 
 Then he remained silent for some minutes, 
 watching intently. All in the room noted his 
 every movement. At length he turned on his 
 heel. 
 
 " Go, my friend," he said to Conyngham ; 
 " form your men in the Calle de la Ciudad, and 
 charge round in line. Do not place yourself too 
 much in advance of your men, or you will be 
 killed, and remember the point. Resist the tempta- 
 tion to cut — the point is best."
 
 3H IN KEDAR'S TENTS 
 
 He patted Conyngham on the arm affectionately, 
 as if he were sending him to bed with a good wish, 
 and accompanied him to the door. 
 
 " I knew," he said, returning to the window and 
 rubbing his hands together, " that that was a good 
 man the first moment I saw him." 
 
 He glanced at Estella, and then, turning, opened 
 another window, setting the shutters ajar, so as to 
 make a second point of observation. 
 
 "My poor child," he whispered, as she went to 
 the window and looked out, " it is an ill fortune to 
 have to do with men whose trade this is." Estella 
 smiled a little whitely and said nothing. The 
 moon was now shining from an almost cloudless 
 sky. The few fleecy remains of the storm sailing 
 toward the east only added brightness to the night. 
 It was almost possible to see the faces of the men 
 moving in the square below, and to read their ex- 
 pressions. The majority stood in a group in th-; 
 centre of the plaza, while a daring few, reckoning 
 on the Spanish aversion to firearms, ran forward 
 from time to time and set a bundle of wood or 
 straw against the door beneath the balcony. 
 
 Some, who appeared to be the leaders, looked 
 up constantly and curiously at the windows, won- 
 dering if any resistance would be made. Had they 
 known that General Vincente was in that silent 
 house, they would probably have gone home to 
 bed, and the crowd would have dispersed like 
 smoke.
 
 MIDNIGHT AND DAWN 315 
 
 Suddenly there arose a roar to the right hand of 
 the square, where the Calle de la Ciudad was sit- 
 uated, and Conyngham appeared for a moment 
 alone, running toward the group with the moonlight 
 flashing on his sword. At his heels an instant 
 later a single line of men swung round the corner 
 and charged across the square. 
 
 " Dear, dear," muttered the general ; " too 
 quick, my friend, too quick ! " 
 
 For Conyngham was already among the crowd, 
 which broke and swayed back toward the cathedral. 
 He paused for a moment to draw his sword out of 
 a dark form that lay upon the ground, as a cricketer 
 draws a stump. He had at all events remembered 
 the point. The troopers swept across the square 
 like a broom, sending the people as dust before 
 them, and leaving the clear, moonlit square behind. 
 They also left behind one or two shadows, lying 
 stark upon the ground. One of these got upon 
 his hands and knees, and crawled painfully away, 
 all one-sided, like a beetle that has been trodden 
 underfoot. Those watching from the windows 
 saw, with a gasp of horror, that part of him — 
 part of an arm — had been left behind, and a sigh 
 of relief went up when he stopped crawling and 
 lay quite still. 
 
 The troopers were now retreating slowly toward 
 the Calle de la Ciudad. 
 
 " Be careful, Conyngham ! " shouted the general 
 from the balcony ; " they will return."
 
 3 i6 IN KEDAR'S TENTS 
 
 And as he spoke a rattling fire was opened upon 
 them from the far corner of the square, where the 
 crowd had taken refuge in the opening of the Calle 
 del Aico. Immediately the people, having noted 
 that the troopers were few in number, charged 
 down upon them. The men fought in line, retreat- 
 ing step by step, their swords gleaming in the 
 moonlight. Estella, hearing footsteps in the room 
 behind her, turned in time to see her father dis- 
 appearing through the doorway. Concepcion Vara, 
 coatless, as he loved to work, his white shirt- 
 sleeves fluttering as his arm swung, had now 
 joined the troopers, and was fighting by Conyng- 
 ham's side. 
 
 Estella and Julia were out on the balcony now, 
 leaning over and forgetting all but the breathless 
 interest of battle. Concha stood beside them, mut- 
 tering and cursing like any soldier. 
 
 They saw Vincente appear at the corner of the 
 Calle de la Ciudad and throw away his scabbard as 
 he ran. 
 
 " Now, my children ! " he cried, in a voice that 
 Estella had never heard before, which rang out 
 across the square, and was answered by a yell that 
 was nothing but a cry of sheer delight. The 
 crowd swayed back as if before a gust of wind, and 
 the general, following it, seemed to clear a space 
 for himself, as a reaper clears away the standing 
 corn before him. It was, however, only for a mo- 
 ment. The crowd surged back, those in front
 
 MIDNIGHT AND DAWN 
 
 3 X 7 
 
 against their will, and on to the glittering steel, 
 those behind shouting encouragement. 
 
 " Caramba ! " shouted Concha, and was gone. 
 
 They saw him a minute later appear in the 
 square, having thrown aside his cassock. He made 
 a strange, lean figure of a man, with his knee- 
 breeches and dingy purple stockings, his gray flan- 
 nel shirt, and the moonlight shining on his tonsured 
 head. He fought without skill and heedless of 
 danger, swinging a great sword that he had picked 
 up from the hand of a fallen trooper, and each 
 blow that he got home killed its man. The mettle 
 of the man had suddenly shown itself after years of 
 suppression. This, as Vincente had laughingly 
 said, was no priest, but a soldier. 
 
 Concepcion, in the thick of it, using the knife 
 now with a deadly skill, looked over his shoulder 
 and laughed. Suddenly the crowd swayed. The 
 faint sound of a distant bugle came to the ears of 
 all. 
 
 " It is nothing," shouted Concha, in English — 
 " it is nothing ! It is I who sent the bugler 
 round." 
 
 And his great sword whistled into a man's brain. 
 In a moment the square was empty, for the politi- 
 cians who came to murder a woman had had 
 enough steel. The sound of the bugle, intimating, 
 as they supposed, the arrival of troops, completed 
 the work of demoralisation which the recognition 
 of General Vincente had begun.
 
 3 i8 IN KEDAR'S TENTS 
 
 The little party, the few defenders of the Casa 
 del Ayuntamiento, were left in some confusion in 
 the plaza, and Estella saw, with a sudden cold fear, 
 that Conyngham and Concha were on their knees 
 in the midst of a little group of hesitating men. It 
 was Concha who first rose and held up his hand to 
 the watchers on the balcony, bidding them stay 
 where they were. Then Conyngham rose to his 
 feet, slowly, as one bearing a burden. Estella 
 looked down in a sort of dream and saw her lover 
 carrying her father toward the house, her mind 
 only half comprehending, in the semi-dreamlike 
 reception of sudden calamity, which is one of 
 Heaven's deepest mercies. 
 
 It was Concepcion who came into the room 
 first, his white shirt dyed with blood in great 
 patches, like the colour on a piebald horse. A cut 
 in his cheek was slowly dripping. He went 
 straight to a sofa covered in gorgeous yellow satin 
 and set the cushions in order. 
 
 " Senorita, . . ." he said, and spread out his 
 hands. The tears were in his eyes. " Half of 
 Spain," he added, " would rather that it had been 
 the Queen, and the world is poorer." 
 
 A minute later Concha came into the room 
 dragging on his cassock. 
 
 " My child, we are in God's hands," he said, 
 with a break in his gruff voice. 
 
 And then came the heavy step of one carrying 
 sorrow.
 
 MIDNIGHT AND DAWN 319 
 
 Conyngham laid his burden on the sofa. Gen- 
 eral Vincente was holding his handkerchief to his 
 side, and his eyes, which had a thoughtful look, 
 saw only Estella's face. 
 
 " I have sent for a doctor," said Conyngham ; 
 " your father is wounded." 
 
 " Yes," added Vincente, immediately, " but I 
 am in no pain, my dear child. There is no rea- 
 son, surely, for us to distress ourselves." 
 
 He looked round and smiled. 
 
 " And this good Conyngham," he added, " car- 
 ried me like a child." 
 
 Julia was on her knees at the foot of the sofa, 
 her face hidden in her hands. 
 
 " My dear Julia," he said, " why this distress ? " 
 
 " Because all of this is my doing," she answered, 
 lifting her drawn and terror-stricken face. 
 
 " No, no," said Vincente, with a characteristic 
 pleasantry ; " you take too much upon yourself. 
 All these things are written down for us before- 
 hand. We only add the punctuation, delaying a 
 little or hurrying a little." 
 
 They looked at him silently, and assuredly none 
 could mistake the shadows that were gathering on 
 his face. Estella, who was holding his hand, 
 knelt on the floor by his side, quiet and strong, 
 offering silently that sympathy which is woman's 
 greatest gift. 
 
 Concepcion, who perhaps knew more of this 
 matter than any present, looked at Concha and
 
 320 IN KEDAR'S TENTS 
 
 shook his head. The priest was buttoning his 
 cassock, and began to seek something in his pocket. 
 
 " Your breviary ? " whispered Concepcion ; " I 
 saw it lying out there among the dead." 
 
 " It is a comfort to have one's duty clearly 
 defined," said the general, suddenly in a clear voice 
 — he was evidently addressing Conyngham — " one 
 of the advantages of a military life. We have 
 done our best, and this time we have succeeded. 
 But ... it is only deferred. It will come at 
 length, and Spain will be a republic. It is a failing 
 cause . . . because at the head of it ... is a 
 bad woman." 
 
 Conyngham nodded, but no one spoke. No 
 one seemed capable of following his thoughts. 
 Already he seemed to look at them as from a dis- 
 tance, as if he had started on a journey and was 
 looking back. During this silence there came a 
 great clatter in the streets, and a sharp voice cried, 
 " Halt ! " The general turned his eyes toward the 
 window. 
 
 " The cavalry," said Conyngham, " from 
 Madrid." 
 
 " I did not expect . . . them, . . ." said 
 Vincente, slowly, " before the dawn." 
 
 The sound of the horses' feet and the clatter of 
 arms died away as the troop passed on toward the 
 Calle de la Ciudad, and the quiet of night was again 
 unbroken. 
 
 Then Concha, getting down on to his knees, began
 
 MIDNIGHT AND DAWN 321 
 
 reciting from memory the office, which, alas ! he 
 knew too well. 
 
 When it was finished and the gruff voice died 
 away, Vincente opened his eyes. 
 
 " Every man to his trade," he said, with a little 
 laugh. 
 
 Then he suddenly made a grimace. 
 
 " A twinge of pain," he said deprecatingly, as if 
 apologising for giving them the sorrow of seeing it ; 
 " it will pass . . . before the dawn." 
 
 Presently he opened his eyes again and smiled at 
 Estella before he moved, with a tired sigh, and 
 turned his face toward that dawn which knows no 
 eventide.
 
 CHAPTER XXX 
 
 THE DAWN OF PEACE 
 " Quien no ama, no vive." 
 
 The fall of Morella had proved to be, as many 
 anticipated, the knell of the Carlist cause. Cabrera, 
 that great general and consummate leader, followed 
 Don Carlos, who had, months earlier, fled to France. 
 General Espartero, a man made and strengthened 
 by circumstances, was now at the height of his 
 fame, and for the moment peace seemed to be 
 assured to Spain. It was now a struggle between 
 Espartero and Queen Christina, but with these 
 matters the people of Spain had little to do. Such 
 warfare of the council chamber and the boudoir is 
 carried on quietly, and the sound of it rarely reaches 
 the ear and never the heart of the masses. Politics, 
 indeed, had been the daily fare of the Spaniards for 
 so long that their palates were now prepared to 
 accept any sop, so long as it was flavoured with 
 peace. Aragon was devastated, and the northern 
 provinces had neither seed nor labourers for the 
 coming autumn. The peasants, who, having lost 
 faith in Don Carlos, rallied round Cabrera, now saw 
 themselves abandoned by their worshipped leader,
 
 THE DAWN OF PEACE 323 
 
 and turned hopelessly enough homeward. Thus 
 gradually the country relapsed into quiet, and empty 
 farms made many lay aside the bayonet and take 
 up the spade, who, having tasted the thrill of battle, 
 had no longer any taste for the ways of peace. 
 
 Frederick Conyngham was brought into sudden 
 prominence by the part he played in the disturbance 
 at Toledo, which disturbance proved, as history 
 tells, to be a forerunner of the great revolution a 
 year later in Madrid. Promotion was at this time 
 rapid, and the Englishman made many strides in a 
 few months. Jealousy was so rife among the 
 Spanish leaders, Christinos distrusted so thoroughly 
 the reformed Carlists, that one who was outside 
 these petty considerations received from both sides 
 many honours on the sole recommendation of his 
 neutrality. 
 
 " And besides," said Father Concha, sitting in 
 the cunlight on his church steps at Ronda, reading 
 to the barber and the shoemaker and other of his 
 parishioners the latest newspaper — " and besides he 
 is clever." 
 
 He paused, slowly taking a pinch of snuff. 
 
 " Where the river is deepest it makes least noise," 
 he added. 
 
 The barber wagged his head, after the manner 
 of one who will never admit that he does not under- 
 stand an allusion. And before any could speak 
 the clatter of horses in the narrow street diverted 
 attention. Concha rose to his feet.
 
 324 IN KEDAR'S TENTS 
 
 " Ah ! " he said, and went forward to meet 
 Conyngham, who was riding with Concepcion at 
 his side. 
 
 " So you have come, my son," he said, shaking 
 hands. He looked up into the Englishman's face, 
 which was burnt brown by service under a merci- 
 less sun. Conyngham looked lean and strong, but 
 his eyes had no rest in them. This was not a man 
 who had all he wanted. 
 
 "Are you come to Ronda, or are you passing 
 through ? " asked the priest. 
 
 " To Ronda. As I passed the Casa Barenna I 
 made inquiries. The ladies are in the town, it 
 appears." 
 
 " Yes ; they are with Estella in the house, you 
 know, unless you have forgotten it." 
 
 " No," answered Conyngham, getting out of the 
 saddle — "no, padre, I have forgotten nothing." 
 
 Concepcion came forward and led the horse 
 away. 
 
 " I will walk to the Casa Vincente. Have you 
 the time to accompany me ? " said Conyngham. 
 
 " I have always time for my neighbour's 
 business," replied Concha, and they set off to- 
 gether. 
 
 " You walk stiffly," said Concha. " Have you 
 ridden far ? " 
 
 " From Osuna, forty miles since daybreak." 
 
 " You are in a hurry." 
 
 " Yes, I am in a hurry."
 
 THE DAWN OF PEACE 325 
 
 Without further comment he extracted from 
 inside his smart tunic a letter, the famous letter in 
 a pink envelope, which he handed to Concha. 
 
 " Yes," said the priest, turning it over ; " you 
 and I first saw this in the Hotel de la Marina, at 
 Alo-eciras, when we were fools not to throw it into 
 the nearest brazier. We should have saved a good 
 man's life, my friend." 
 
 He handed the letter back, and thoughtfully 
 dusted his cassock where it was worn and shiny 
 with constant dusting, so that the snuff had naught 
 to cling to. 
 
 " And you have got it at last. Holy saints, 
 these Englishmen ! Do you always get what you 
 want, my son ? " 
 
 " Not always," replied Conyngham, with an 
 uneasy laugh ; " but I should be a fool not to try." 
 
 "Assuredly," said Concha — "assuredly, and 
 you have come to Ronda ... to try." 
 
 " Yes." 
 
 They walked on in silence, on the shady side of 
 the street, and presently passed and saluted a priest, 
 one of Concha's colleagues in this city of the 
 South. 
 
 " There walks a tragedy," said Concha, in his 
 curt way. " Inside every cassock there walks a 
 tragedy ... or a villain." 
 
 After a pause it was Concha who again broke 
 the silence ; Conyngham seemed to be occupied 
 with his own thoughts.
 
 326 IN KEDAR'S TENTS 
 
 " And Larralde . . . ? " said the priest. 
 
 " I come from him, from Barcelona," answered 
 Conyngham, " where he is in safety. Catalonia is 
 full of such as he. Sir John Pleydell before leav- 
 ing Spain bought this letter for two hundred pounds, 
 a few months ago, when I was a poor man and 
 could not offer a price for it. But Larralde dis- 
 appeared when the plot failed, and I have only found 
 him lately in Barcelona." 
 
 " In Barcelona ? " echoed Concha. 
 
 " Yes ; where he can take a passage to Cuba, and 
 where he awaits Julia Barenna." 
 
 " Ah ! " said Concha, " so he also is faithful. 
 Because life is not long, my son. That is the only 
 reason. How wise was the great God when He 
 made a human life short ! " 
 
 " I have a letter," continued Conyngham, " from 
 Larralde to the Senorita Barenna." 
 
 " So you parted friends in Barcelona, after all, 
 when his knife has been between your shoulders." 
 
 " Yes." 
 
 " God bless you, my son ! " said the priest, in 
 Latin, with his careless, hurried gesture of the 
 cross. 
 
 After they had walked a few paces he spoke 
 again. 
 
 " I shall go to Barcelona with her," he said, 
 " and marry her to this man. When one has no 
 affairs of one's own there always remain, for old 
 women and priests, the affairs of one's neighbour.
 
 THE DAWN OF PEACE 327 
 
 Tell me, . . ." he paused and looked fiercely at 
 him under shaggy brows . . . " tell me why you 
 came to Spain ? " 
 
 " You want to know who and what I am before 
 we reach the Calle Mayor ? " said Conyngham. 
 
 " I know what you are, ami go mio, better than 
 yourself perhaps." 
 
 As they walked through the narrow streets, Con- 
 yngham told his simple history, dwelling more 
 particularly on the circumstances preceding his 
 departure from England, and Concha listened with 
 no further sign of interest than a grimace or a dry 
 smile here and there. 
 
 " The mill gains by going, and not by standing 
 still," he said, and added after a pause, " but it is 
 always a mistake to grind another's wheat for 
 nothing." 
 
 They were now approaching the old house in 
 the Calle Mayor, and Conyngham lapsed into a 
 silence which his companion respected. They 
 passed under the great doorway into the patio, 
 which was quiet and shady at this afternoon hour. 
 The servants, of whom there are a multitude in all 
 great Spanish houses, had apparently retired to the 
 seclusion of their own quarters. One person alone 
 was discernible amid the orange-trees and in the 
 neighbourhood of the murmuring fountain. She 
 was asleep in a rocking-chair, with a newspaper on 
 her lap. She preferred the patio to the garden, 
 which was too quiet for one of her temperament.
 
 328 IN KEDAR'S TENTS 
 
 In the patio she found herself better placed to 
 exchange a word with those engaged in the business 
 of the house — to learn, in fact, from the servants 
 the latest gossip, to ask futile questions of them, and 
 to sit in that idleness which will not allow others 
 to be employed. In a word, this was the Senora 
 Barenna, and Concha, seeing her, stood for a 
 moment in hesitation. 
 
 Then, with a signal to Conyngham, he crept 
 noiselessly across the tessellated pavement to the 
 shadow of the staircase. They passed up the 
 broad steps without sound, and without .awaking 
 the sleeping lady. In the gallery above, the priest 
 paused and looked down into the courtyard, his 
 grim face twisted into a queer smile, then at the 
 woman sitting there, at life and all its illusions, 
 perhaps. He shrugged his shoulders and passed on. 
 
 In the drawing-room they found Julia, who leapt 
 to her feet and hurried across the floor when she 
 saw Conyngham. She stood looking at him breath- 
 lessly, her whole history written in her eyes. 
 
 " Yes," she whispered, as if he had called her — 
 " yes ; what is it ? Have you come to tell me . . . 
 something ? " 
 
 " I have come to give you a letter, senorita," he 
 answered, handing her Larralde's missive. She 
 held out her hand and never took her eyes from 
 his face. 
 
 Concha walked to the window, the window 
 from whence the alcalde of Ronda had seen Con-
 
 THE DAWN OF PEACE 329 
 
 yngham hand Julia Barenna another letter. The 
 old priest stood looking down into the garden, 
 where, amid the feathery foliage of the pepper-trees 
 and the bamboos, he could perceive the shadow of 
 a black dress. Conyngham also turned away, and 
 thus the two men, who held this woman's happi- 
 ness in the hollow of their hands, stood listening to 
 the crisp rattle of the paper as she tore the envel- 
 ope and unfolded her lover's letter. A great hap- 
 piness and a great sorrow are alike impossible of 
 realisation. We only perceive their extent when 
 their importance has begun to wane. 
 
 Julia Barenna read the letter through to the end, 
 and it is possible (for women are blind in such 
 matters) failed to perceive the selfishness in every 
 line of it. Then, with the message of happiness 
 in her hand, she returned to the chair she had just 
 quitted, with a vague wonder in her mind, and the 
 very human doubt that accompanies all possession, 
 as to whether the price paid had not been too high. 
 
 Concha was the first to move. He turned and 
 crossed the room toward Conyngham. 
 
 " I see," he said, " Estella in the garden." 
 
 And they passed out of the room together, leav- 
 ing Julia Barenna alone with her thoughts. On 
 the broad stone balcony Concha paused. 
 
 " I will stay here," he said. He looked over 
 the balustrade — Senora Barenna was still asleep. 
 
 " Do not awake her," he whispered. " Let all 
 sleeping things . . . sleep."
 
 330 IN KEDAR'S TENTS 
 
 Conyngham passed down the stairs noiselessly, 
 and through the doorway into the garden. 
 
 " And at the end the Gloria is chanted," said 
 Concha, watching him go. 
 
 The scent of the violets greeted Conyngham as 
 he went forward "beneath the trees planted there in 
 the Moslem's day. The running water murmured 
 sleepily, as it hurried in its narrow channel toward 
 the outlet through the gray wall, from whence it 
 leapt four hundred feet into the Tajo below. 
 
 Estella was seated in the shade of a gnarled fig- 
 tree, where tables and chairs indited the Spanish 
 habit of an out-of-door existence. She rose as he 
 came toward her, and met his eyes gravely. A 
 gleam of sun glancing through the leaves fell on 
 her golden hair, half hidden by the mantilla, and 
 showed that she was pale with some fear or desire. 
 
 Their attitude toward each other was one of 
 mutual respect, which feeling should surely be the 
 basis of love. 
 
 "Senorita," he said, " have brought you the 
 letter." 
 
 He held it out and she took it, turning over the 
 worn envelope absent-mindedly. 
 
 " I have not read it myself, and am permitted to 
 give it to you on one condition, namely, that you 
 destroy it as soon as you have read it." 
 
 She looked at it again. 
 
 " It contains the lives of many men, their lives 
 and the happiness of those connected with them,"
 
 THE DAWN OF PEACE 331 
 
 said Conyngham. " That is what you hold in your 
 hand, senorita, as well as my life and happiness." 
 
 She raised her dark eyes to his for a moment, 
 and then their tenderness was not of earth or of 
 this world at all. 
 
 Then she tore the envelope and its contents 
 slowly into a hundred pieces, and dropped the flut- 
 tering papers into the stream pacing in its marble 
 bed toward the Tajo and the oblivion of the sea. 
 
 " There, I have destroyed the letter," she said, 
 with a thoughtful little smile ; then looking up, she 
 met his eyes. 
 
 " I did not want it. I am glad you gave it 
 to me. It will make a difference to our lives, 
 though ... I never wanted it." 
 
 Then she came slowly toward him. 
 
 Th£ END.
 
 SO 87 


 
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