"Oh, very well, then, we will stop; but I don't call this half living.

I want to go and attack somebody or have them attack us. Why, it's like being dead, going on this round--yes, dead, and just as if they had forgot to bury us because they've got too much to do. Are you going to lie down to sleep?"

"No," said Pen, "I feel as wakeful as you are."

"I say, look at that now! Of course we can't go to sleep. Well, we might have a walk up and down outside in the dark. No one could see us, and it would make us sleepy again."

"Very well; only we mustn't go out of sight of the door, in case the captain should come."

"Yah! He won't come," grumbled Punch; and he descended to the lower room, sc.r.a.ped the faintly glowing wood-ashes together, and then went to the door, peered out, and listened, and afterwards, followed by his comrade, he began to tramp up and down the shelf-like ledge upon which the priest's cottage was built.

It was very dark, for the sky was so overcast that not a star was visible; and, as if feeling depressed by the silence, neither was disposed for talk, and the consequence was that at the end of about half an hour Pen caught his companion by the arm and stopped short. His reason was plain enough, for Punch uttered a faint "Hist!" and led the way to the cottage door, where they both stopped and listened to a sound which had grown plainer--that of steps coming swiftly towards them.

They hardly had time to softly close the door and climb up to the loft before the door was thrown open, there was a quick step below, and a soft whistle which they well knew now was uttered at the foot of the steps.

Pen replied in the way he had learned, and directly after came the question, "Where's the father?"

"He went out an hour ago," Pen replied.

"Which way?"

"By the upper pa.s.s," replied Pen.

There was a sharp e.j.a.c.u.l.a.t.i.o.n, expressive of impatience, the steps crossed the room again, the door creaked as it was shut to, and then the steps died away.

"There, Punch, you see I was right," said Pen.

"Who's to see anybody's right when it's as black as your hat?" replied the boy impatiently.

"Well, I think it's right if you don't. What shall we do--go to sleep now?"

"Go to sleep?" growled the boy irritably. "Go to wake you mean! I tell you what I am just fit for."

"Well, what?" said Pen good-humouredly.

"Sentry-go. No fear of anybody catching me asleep who came on his rounds. I used to think that was the very worst part of being a soldier, but I could just enjoy it now. 'Tis miserable work, though, isn't it?"

"No," replied Pen thoughtfully.

"But you get very sleepy over it, don't you?"

"I never did," said Pen gravely, as they both settled themselves upon the floor of the loft, and the bundles of straw and dried-fern litter which the priest had added for their comfort rustled loudly while they placed themselves in restful postures. "I used to find it a capital time to think, Punch."

"What about?"

"The old days when I was a boy at school, and the troubles I had had.

Then I used to question myself."

"How did you do that?"

"How did I do that? Why, I used to ask myself questions as to whether I hadn't done a very foolish thing in enlisting for a soldier."

"And then of course you used to say no," cried Punch. "Anybody could answer that question. Why didn't you ask yourself some good tough questions that you couldn't answer--regular puzzlers?"

"I always found that puzzle enough, Punch," said Pen gravely; "and I have never been able to answer it yet."

"Well, that's a rum un," said Punch, with a sort of laugh. "You have often called me a queer fellow. You do puzzle me. Why, of course you did right. You are not down-hearted because we have had a bit of a venture or two? It's all experience, and you like it as much as I do, even if I do grumble a bit sometimes because it's so dull. Something's sure to turn up before long, and--What did you do that for?"

"Pst!" whispered Pen; and Punch was silence itself, for he too caught the hurrying of many feet, and low voices in eager converse coming nearer and nearer; and the next minute there was the heavy thump as of a fist upon the door, which was thrust open so roughly that it banged against the wall.

And then midst the sounds of heavy breathing and the scuffling of feet as of men bearing in a heavy burden, the room below seemed to be rapidly filling up, and the door was closed and barred.

CHAPTER TWENTY NINE.

THE ROYAL VISITOR.

The two lads grasped hands as they listened in the intense darkness to what seemed to be a scene of extreme excitement, the actors in it having evidently been hurrying to reach the cottage, which they had gained in a state of exhaustion; for those who spoke gave utterance to their words as if panting and breathless with their exertions, while from their whispering it seemed evident that they were afraid of being overheard.

The two listeners dared not stir, for the least movement would have betrayed them to those below, and before many minutes had elapsed they felt certain that the present invaders of the cottage were strangers.

All at once some one gave vent to a piteous sigh and an e.j.a.c.u.l.a.t.i.o.n or two as if of pain; and this was followed by what sounded to be words that were full of pity and compa.s.sion, mingled with great deference, towards the sufferer.

Pen could make out nothing more in the hurried and whispered conversation than that it was in Spanish, and for the time being he felt somewhat dazed as to who the new-comers were. He was too much startled to try and puzzle out matters calmly, and for a while he devoted himself to the preservation of utter silence.

At last, though, a few more utterances below, spoken in a deferential tone, followed by a sharp, angry command or two, sent a flash through his brain, and he pressed Punch's arm with greater energy in an effort to try and convey to his companion the thought that he knew who the fresh-comers must be.

"If they would only strike a light," he thought to himself, "I might get a peep through the knot-hole"--which was always carefully kept clear for inspection of what took place below--"and I could see then at a glance whether this was the expected King with his followers."

But the darkness remained profound.

"If it is the escaped Spanish King," he said to himself, "it will be plain to see. It must be, and they have been pursued by the French, or they wouldn't be afraid to speak aloud."

Then he began to doubt again, for the Spanish King and his followers, who needed a guide to lead them through the intricate pa.s.ses of the mountains, would not have known their way to the cottage.

"Nonsense!" he thought to himself, as fresh doubts arose. "The old priest or the captain must have met them and brought them here."

Then all was silent for a time, till it was evident that some one was moving by the fireplace; and then there was the sound of some one blowing.

This was followed by a faint glow of light; the blowing sound increased, and it was evident that the wood-ashes possessed sufficient life to be fanned into flame, which increased as the embers were evidently being drawn together by a piece of metal; and before another minute had elapsed Pen made out through the knot-hole that the instrument used for reviving the fire was the blade of a sword.

Then some one sighed deeply and uttered a few words in an imperious tone whose effect was to set some one fanning the fire with more energy, when the cracks in the boarded floor began to show, and the watcher above began to get glimpses of those below him.

A few minutes later the embers began to crackle, the members of the party below grew more visible, and some one uttered a few words in an eager tone--words which evoked an e.j.a.c.u.l.a.t.i.o.n or two of satisfaction, followed by an eager conversation that sounded like a dispute.

This was followed by an angry, imperious command, and this again by what sounded to Pen like a word or two of protest. Then the sharp, commanding voice beat down the respectful objection, one of the flaming brands seemed to rise from the hearth, and directly after the smoky wick of the _padre's_ lamp flamed up.

And now Pen had a view of the crowded room which completely dashed his belief in the party being the Spanish King and his followers, for he was looking down upon the heads of a gathering of rough-looking, unshorn, peasant-like men, for the most part in cloaks. Some wore the regular handkerchief tied round their heads and had their sombrero hats held in hand or laid by their sides. All, too, were well armed, wearing swords and rough scarves or belts which contained pistols.

This scene was enough to sweep away all thought of this being a king and his courtiers, for nothing could have been less suggestive thereof, and the lad looked in vain for one of them who might have been wounded or so wearied out that he had been carried in.