HOW SEVERAL OF OUR FRIENDS FIND THEMSELVES IN A MOST EXTRAORDINARY
SITUATION.
So Harry stood, with his retreat cut off, staring into the darkness,
while Katie, clinging to him, awaited the result. Harry expected
every minute that lights would be produced and everything revealed.
But the lights did not come, and the discovery was delayed. There
occurred a pause, during which Harry waited, after which the sliding,
shuffling sounds recommenced.
They now came nearer. Then came the sound of a stealthy
footfall--very slow, too, and very cautious. The new-comer, the
supposed pursuer, whoever he was, seemed now to be in the room, and
cautiously advancing. As yet he was under the shadow, and was,
therefore, invisible in the gloom; but he was approaching the place
where the moonbeams fell--where he might be seen. Harry noted this,
and wondered how many more of them there might be. Katie also looked
up now, and stood listening. Both of these were waiting for a chance
to separate, if possible--Katie to go back to her own place, and
Harry to fly back to his room.
At length the advancing figure reached the place where the moonbeams
fell, and here he entered the moonlight, so that it was possible to
see his outline, though not to distinguish features. It was a man--he
was unarmed, and all his gestures and motions indicated excessive
caution and watchfulness. Harry and Katie both saw him, as he groped
about and peered through the gloom.
"It's 'His Majesty,'" said Katie.
"H-s-s-s-h!" said Harry.
The slight, whispered sounds seemed to catch the ears of the visitor.
He stood and listened. But the sounds were not repeated, and he
resumed his progress.
"I know who it is," said Harry, in the faintest possible whisper.
"Who?"
"It's Ashby," said Harry.
Katie said not a word in reply, but the effect of that name upon her
was none the less manifest. The hands which had been clasping Harry's
arm relaxed their hold; she moved away from him. Harry caught her
hand and tried to detain her, but Katie snatched it away, and Harry
was afraid to insist. It was evident that she was offended; and at
what? Was it at the mention of Ashby's name? And but a moment before
she had said that she would share his fate--"Then if you are lost, I
will be lost with you!" Those were her words. And now she was
offended!
Harry could not believe it. He took a step after her and found her
again. He sought again to take her hand. It was not now refused.
Katie seemed to have overcome her irritation. The quarrel was over.
So overjoyed was he that he put his arms round her slender form, and
unconsciously pressed her close to his heart, while her head sank
down on his breast. And there, all the time, only a few paces off,
was Ashby himself!
But the beauty of it was that Ashby just then was not thinking of
Katie at all. He had come here to see Dolores. For her he was making
this venture, having stolen in through the passage-way which she had
shown him. He had promised, it is true, not to visit her except in
cases of extreme necessity; but as he had felt very lonely, he
concluded that this was the necessity in question, and had come to
this place.
The room seemed to him very silent. He had come down the chimney with
very little noise, and had surveyed the scene from the dark recesses
of the fireplace. The corners of the room were all in darkness, but
the floor was illuminated here and there by the moonbeams. Having
thus taken a general view, Ashby could do nothing else but go
forward; and this he did, thinking that every one was asleep, and
that by some happy luck he would find Dolores.
As for Dolores, she was not asleep at that time, nor had she been
asleep at all.
Katie had taken for granted that the beautiful Spaniard was in the
land of forgetfulness; but Katie had never in her life been more
entirely mistaken. Dolores was wide awake, and had been engaged in
thoughts and speculations which made sleep impossible. It was nothing
less than a plan of escape, over which her busy brain was occupied,
and there were certain difficulties about it, through which she could
not see her way clearly. It was over these that she was puzzling her
brain when her attention was roused by certain strange movements in
the room.
These were, first, the movements of Katie as she stole to the
fireplace and waited there.
Secondly, the movements of Harry as he shuffled down to Katie's side.
Thirdly, the preliminary whisperings of Harry and Katie.
Fourthly, the movements of these two out of the fireplace into the
corner of the room.
Fifthly, their continuous whisperings, which sometimes were so
animated that they might have wakened any sleeper.
Over all this Dolores was deeply agitated. Who, she asked herself,
was this visitor to Katie? It could be one, and one only. That one
was Ashby? She had shown him the way. He alone knew it. He had
promised her not to come, but he had broken his word and had come.
And why? Not for her, but for his English maiden! There were these
two now plotting and whispering in her presence, and that, too, after
Ashby had disowned with scorn this English maiden, and had spoken
such words to her! What could she do now? For such outraged love,
such treachery, and such intolerable insult, what revenge could
suffice?
Revenge! Yes, nothing less than revenge! For Dolores was not one of
those tender and sensitive creatures who could lie down and die under
a cruel wrong. Her ardent Southern nature was roused to fury, and she
remained there motionless, but--like some wild beast ready to start
from its lair when the prey is at hand. Away now went all thoughts of
flight with Ashby. Vengeance alone remained for her to think
of--vengeance full and complete, which should involve both Ashby and
the English maiden. What this vengeance was to be, however, she could
not think of as yet; but she knew that in order to make it as full
and complete as possible, it would be necessary to think it all over
from every point of view.
In this amiable frame of mind Dolores was thus waiting and
listening--stung to madness by every new whisper, and nourishing her
own rage all the more every moment--until at length she became
gradually aware of a sound proceeding from another quarter, and not
coming from the two whisperers in the corner at all. There was some
one in the fireplace--some newcomer who had approached by that way.
What did this mean? Who could this be? Did others know of the secret
passage-way? If so, then her surroundings were very different from
what she had supposed, and her whole course of action would have to
be changed.
Dolores watched, and at length saw the figure of the new-comer quite
distinct in the moonlight, yet not so distinct as to enable her to
ascertain who it was. The idea was so firmly fixed in her mind that
the first comer was Ashby, that she could only suppose this new
visitor to be one of the Carlists, perhaps "His Majesty" himself.
Meanwhile this new-comer had been stealthily moving along, and
Dolores watched and listened. Now was the time which she might seize,
if she chose, as the time for vengeance. If this were really one of
the Carlists, above all, if this were "His Majesty," she might have
sweet revenge by denouncing the false traitor Ashby on the spot,
before he could escape. It would be sweet to see the dismay of the
traitor when thus discovered under her own eyes. Still, even in that
hour of her madness and her fury, she felt that before taking the
irrevocable step and denouncing Ashby it would be necessary to be
perfectly sure. So Dolores waited.
Meanwhile Ashby in his progress had passed beyond the place where
Dolores was, and had traversed more than half the apartment. At this
moment he was at fault, and felt anxious to know where to direct his
way. He thought the best way would be to try first if Dolores was
awake. And so, in a thin, low, but very distinct whisper, he said:
"Do-lo-res!"
Dolores heard it. Well she knew that in the castle there was no one
who called her by that name--save one. Instantly a wild revulsion of
feeling took place. She had mistaken--the first visitor was not
Ashby. Ashby was not false. He was true. He had come, but he had come
for her--herself. It was her name that he called. In that sudden
revulsion of feeling she almost shouted for joy. She started up, and,
regardless of everything but her own heart, was about to steal toward
Ashby, when suddenly she was arrested in her attempt.
There arose another sound from some one near the door.
"Here, here," said a whisper--"here I am. How long you've been!"
Ashby heard this voice, and thinking it was Dolores, hurried there.
Dolores heard it, understood Ashby's action, and sank down in
consternation and despair. Katie and Harry heard it, and thought it
was "His Majesty" on his way to Mrs. Russell. And they thought that
others of "His Majesty's" followers were in the chimney.
Ashby saw a figure dimly defined in the gloom. It was
indistinguishable. He took it for Dolores. So he folded that figure
fondly in his arms, and the "figure" reciprocated to the fullest
extent.
"Oh, my own love and darling!" sighed Ashby, in Spanish.
Mrs. Russell understood not a word of Spanish. She thought, however,
that if "His Majesty" could express himself more freely in that
language it was certainly quite natural for him to use it; yet it did
seem rather unfair to her to come here and talk love and use
endearing expressions in an unknown tongue. "His Majesty" seemed very
eloquent and strongly agitated, yet Mrs. Russell could not make out
what he said, nor had she a chance to explain.
For in the midst of all this there occurred a new interruption. This
was the sound of a key turning in the door. The door opened
immediately behind Mrs. Russell, and a soft voice, said in familiar
tones and in a husky whisper:
"Whis-s-s-s-sht, darlin'--are ye awake, thin! Sure I hope the
gyerruls are aslape."