'His movements were not always above suspicion--' the priest closed his snuff-box and laboriously replaced it in the pocket of his ca.s.sock.

'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.'

'Yes--my dear Padre--yes.'

The two grey-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 General. 'You are thinking that we should do well to tell Estella of these 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 embarra.s.sed.

'But a woman,' went on Concha, 'cannot afford 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 -

'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.

'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 on 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 ta.s.sel 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 unfortunate circ.u.mstances, and I was compelled to have his travelling companion shot. Then occurred that affair of the letter, which he gave to Julia--an affair which has never been explained. Conyngham would have to show me that letter before I should be quite satisfied. I obtained for him an introduction to General Espartero 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 ca.s.sock sleeve and watching Estella with anxious eyes.

'I only tell you, my dear,' continued the General, '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 Englishmen are thus wanderers--but appearances are very much against him.'

'Yes,' admitted Estella quietly. 'Yes.'

She moved towards 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.

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 pa.s.ser-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 surpa.s.s. 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 nearing at last a successful issue to her long and eventful struggle against Don Carlos, she had enemies nearer home whose movements were equally dangerous 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 presenting 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 made his way towards 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 do have escaped so easily from a palace where self-seeking--the 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.