of the muleteer, who stood still and listened. Scarcely a minute elapsed, when a loud noise, as of a door dashed violently open, reached his ears. This was succeeded by a burst of furious vociferation in a voice which Paco knew to be that of Baltasar. Although his tones were loud, his utterance was so rapid and incoherent, the effect apparently of passion, that only a word here and there was intelligible to the muleteer, and these words were for the most part execrations. He seemed to lash himself into the most unbounded fury against some person who had entered the apartment in his company, and from the epithets he made use of, it was clear that that person was a woman. At first no reply was made to his violence, although Paco could distinguish that he put questions, and became more and more infuriated at the silence of her to whom they were addressed. Presently there was a momentary pause, and a female voice was heard. The accents were distinct though tremulous.
"Never!" it said, "never! You may murder me; but that, never!"
A blasphemy too horrible to transcribe, burst from the lips of Baltasar. A blow followed – a heavy, cruel, unmanly blow; there was a faint cry and the sound of a fall. Paco's blood grew cold in his veins, he ground his teeth, and his hand played convulsively with the knife in his pocket. He looked up at the window as though he would have sprung to the assistance of the helpless victim of Baltasar's barbarity. Again the room-door opened, and was again violently slammed. All was now silent in the chamber.
With heavy heart, and a countenance pale with horror and suppressed rage, Paco left the spot, and hastened to another, whence he could see the front of the convent. The Carlist horsemen were filing in at the gate. Looking around him, Paco selected a lofty tree, easy of ascent; in an instant he was amongst its branches. Thence he commanded a view of the interior of the court. Baltasar was there giving orders to his men, who unbridled and watered their horses at a fountain in the centre of the court. This done, they proceeded to feed them, and to cleanse the legs and bellies of the wearied animals from the sweat and dust. Bread and a skin of wine were presently brought out of the convent; and by these and other indications, Paco became convinced that a halt of some duration, for the purpose of rest and refreshment, was intended, although, from the non-removal of the saddles, it was evident that the Carlists would not pass the night there. Having now obtained all the information he could hope for, and far more than he had expected to get, the indefatigable muleteer set out on his return to the platform.
Meanwhile Paco's prolonged absence had caused Herrera and the Mochuelo the most serious uneasiness; and as Luis knew him to be incapable of treachery, and vouched for his fidelity, they could only suppose that he had been taken prisoner, or had fallen and killed or maimed himself amongst the precipices he had to traverse. Sunset was near at hand, when Herrera, who continued to sweep the mountain ridge with his telescope, saw a man roll off the summit and then start to his feet. It was Paco, who now bounded down the mountain with a speed and apparent recklessness that made those who watched his progress tremble for his neck. But the hardy fellow knew well what he did; his sure foot and practised eye served him well; and presently, reeking with sweat, and his hands and dress torn by rocks and brambles, he again stood amongst his friends. He was overwhelmed with enquiries concerning the result of his excursion, and gave a brief but lucid account of all he had seen. Only, with a delicacy and consideration hardly to be expected in one so roughly nurtured, he suppressed the more painful details, merely saying that he had heard a voice, which he believed to be that of Rita, in animated conversation with Baltasar, who seemed endeavouring to persuade her to something which she steadily refused to do.
"We may yet be in time," exclaimed Herrera, all his hopes revived by the muleteer's intelligence. And he looked anxiously at the Mochuelo.
"We will move at once," said the latter, replying to his look rather than to his words. "The sun is low. It will be dark before we reach the convent."
The flow of the waterfall was again stopped, and with the same caution that had marked all their movements since they left Pampeluna, the guerillas descended from their eyrie. Avoiding the open part of the valley, they kept within the forest, and reached the spot where the horses were concealed. They had not been meddled with; it was probable, indeed, that during the whole day Baltasar and his men were the only persons who had passed through the solitary valley. With strength restored by their long repose, the guerillas marched rapidly along, and soon found themselves in the vicinity of the convent. The sun had disappeared, leaving a red glow in the western sky; here and there a star shone out, and the heavens were of a transparent blue, excepting in the wind quarter, where the upper edge of a dense bank of cloud was visible. This, and the vapours, the result of the day's heat, which began to rise in the hollows and low grounds, the Mochuelo contemplated with much satisfaction.
"'Tis a bright evening," he said, "but the night will be dark. The better for our retreat, Captain Herrera; all is in our favour. Fortune befriends us."
Halting his men, the guerilla dismounted and advanced on foot till he came within sight of the convent. By the waning light he distinguished the figures of two or three soldiers lounging outside the gate. He returned to Herrera.
"They are still there," said he, "and cannot escape us. We will wait till it grows somewhat darker, that the surprise may be more complete."
A few minutes were allowed to elapse, minutes that seemed hours to Herrera's impatience, and then a small party, guided by Paco and under command of Torres, moved off to gain the rear of the convent. At the same time the remainder of the guerillas approached the building on the eastern side, stealing along behind banks and trees. Unperceived they had commenced the ascent of the uncultivated slope, when their foremost files stumbled upon a Carlist soldier who had sneaked down to the garden to make provision of the fruit growing there in abundance. So silent were the movements of the guerillas, (Herrera, Velasquez, and the Mochuelo going on foot, whilst their horses were led at some distance in the rear,) that the Carlist was not aware of their approach till they were close to him, and he himself, hidden amongst the fruit-trees, had escaped their notice. He uttered a shout of surprise and terror; it was his last. A blow from the sabre of Velasquez brought him to the ground; the next instant three bayonets were in his body.
"Forward!" cried the Mochuelo, who saw that further caution was useless; and, closely followed by his men, ran at the top of his speed towards the convent. But the soldier's exclamation had given the alarm to a second Carlist, who had been waiting his comrade's return from the orchard. He saw the guerillas rush forward, sprang within the gate, shut and barred it. The Mochuela came up in time to hear the last bolt drawn.
A great bustle and confusion were now audible in the court; the men hurrying to their horses, and questioning each other as to the nature of the alarm. The Mochuelo lost not an instant. Two of his men carried axes; he took one, Herrera the other, and they dealt furious blows upon the gate, which shook and splintered under their efforts. The voice of Baltasar was heard loud in oath, and abusing his men for their cowardly panic. Not conceiving it possible that a party of Christinos should have advanced in broad daylight to so great a distance from their lines, he at first attributed the attack to some roving banditti, who had expected a rich, or, at any rate, an easy prey in the defenceless convent of nuns. He advanced to the gate.
"Scoundrels!" he exclaimed, – "What means this violence? Desist, or I fire upon you!"
A low laugh from the guerillas replied to his menace. With incredible hardihood, he opened the wicket and looked out. The Mochuelo had forbidden his men to fire, but nevertheless, at the sight of Baltasar, a dozen muskets were raised.
"For your lives not a shot!" cried the Mochuelo.
With his axe, Herrera made a furious blow at Baltasar, but the wicket was too small to admit the weapon, and the Carlist retreated into the interior of the court. The gate began to yield, fairly hewn in pieces by the axes; a few more blows and an opening was effected. The guerillas rushed with fixed bayonets into the court. It was deserted save by the horses. The doors and windows of the convent were closely shut, and not a single Carlist was to be seen. Just then several shots, fired in
