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Discovering Diverse Content Through
Random Scribd Documents
 In answer to our pealing at the bell, to our calls also, the landlord
came in at last, not hurrying himself at all, as it seemed to us, to
bring the bill. Indeed, we had observed him, as we looked forth from
the window, engaged in a conversation with two of the townspeople-
-shrouded in the long cloaks which Spaniards wear--their heads as
close together as if they were concocting a crime, though, doubtless,
talking of nothing more important than the weather.

"The bill," I said, "the bill. Quick. Our horses await us, and we
have far to ride."

"Ay," he replied. "Ay," and flinging down a filthy piece of paper on

the table, added: "There is the bill"; and he stood drumming his
fingers on the table while I felt for the coins with which to pay it.
Yet, even as I did so, I noticed that the fellow's manner was quite
changed from what it had been hitherto. His obsequiousness of the
morning had turned to morose surliness, which he took no trouble to
conceal. And, wondering if Juan, who was standing by, fastening his
spur strap, had observed the same thing, I glanced at him and saw
his eyes fixed on the man.

"There are two pistoles," I said, flinging them on the table. "They
will more than pay our addition; give the rest to the servants."

"Ay!" he replied. "Ay!" but with no added word of thanks.

"Is't not enough?" Juan asked.

"It is enough." Then he turned to me and said: "You are riding to

Lugo to-night?"

"That is our road," I replied, feeling my temper mount at the

man's changed manner. "What of it? Does that route displeasure
you, pray?"

"Ho!" he grunted; "for that, it makes no matter to me." Then

added: "The horses are there," in so insolent a tone that I had a
difficulty in restraining myself from kicking or striking him. But I
remembered that, before all else, our safety had to be consulted,
and that naught should be done to cause delay to our progress;
wherefore, I swallowed my ire as best I might.

Yet, as we rode out of the courtyard, I saw at once that Juan's

own thoughts tended exactly in the same direction as mine, since he
said to me:

"That fellow has been told something by the old man--doubtless,

that you are English--that we both are. Por Diôs! Suppose he has
informed him that you were in the English fleet!"

"I have no doubt that the man has been told so," I replied. "But
no matter. If it were not for you I should not care a jot."

Then once more I saw the dark eyes turned on me, and wished
that I had held my tongue--at least as regarded the latter part of my
speech.

It seemed as if the town had gone to bed already. The great

square was deserted--except that the geese and pigs were still in it,
huddled together around the fountain, and severally cackled and
grunted as we trotted by them; down the long street, as we rode,
we saw no signs of any one being outside the doors.

Yet, as we neared the extremity of both the town and the street,
and came to where the latter ended off into a country road
stretching along a dreary-looking plain, over which the moon had
risen, we saw that such was not precisely the case. At the end of the
street, that which was the last building was a little, low,
whitewashed chapel; above its black door there was a figure in a
little niche, with, burning in front of it, a candle in a miserable red-
glassed lantern; and, feeble as were the rays cast forth from this
poor, yet sacred, lamp, they were sufficient to show us three men on
horseback, all sitting their steeds as rigidly as statues.
 Judging by their long black cloaks and the tips of steel scabbards
which protruded beneath them, and which were plainly enough to
be seen, even in that dim, cloudy light, I imagined these men to be
the town gendarmerie--though doubtless they had some other name
to denominate them--and supposed this was a comfortable position
which they probably selected nightly. Also, the position was at both
an exit and an entrance to the place, therefore a natural one.

"A fine night, gentlemen," one remarked, and next I heard him
say something to Juan, which he replied to; in both of their remarks
the name of Lugo being quite distinct to my ears. But, beyond this,
nothing else passed, and, a few moments later, we were riding at a
smart trot across the dreary, moor-like plain.

"They asked," Juan said, in answer to my question, "if our

destination was Lugo. That was all."

"So I thought I heard," I said. And added: "Until we were past

them I felt not at all sure they might not be on the lookout for us.
Might, perhaps, intend to stop us. If Carstairs, or Eaton, or whatever
his name is, blew upon me to the landlord, he would be as like to do
it to the authorities also. However, we are in the open now, and all is
well so far."

By this time the moon was well up, and we could see the country
along which we were riding; could perceive that 'twas indeed a vast
open plain, with, however, as it seemed to me, a forest or wood
ahead of us, into which the road we were on trended at last. Could
see, too, the snow lying white all around, as far as the moor
stretched, and looking beneath the moonbeams like some dead sea
across which no ship was trying to find its way.

"A mournful spot," I said to Juan, as, half an hour later, we had
almost reached the entrance to the great forest, which we had
observed drawing nearer to us at every stride our beasts took; "'tis
well we made a full meal ere we set out. We are not very like to
come across another ere we reach Lugo."

I spoke as much to hearten up my companion as for any other

reason, since I feared that, in spite of his bravery and firm-fixed
determination to never leave my side, he must be very much
alarmed at the thoughts of what might happen to us ere we had
gone many more leagues.

But, remarking that he made no answer to my idle words, I

glanced round at him and perceived that his head was turned half
way back toward whence we had come, and that upon his face was
a look of intense eagerness--the look of one who listens attentively
for some sound.

"What is it, Juan?" I asked.

"Horses' hoofs on the road behind us," he said, "and coming

swiftly, too. Hark! do you not hear?"

And even as he spoke I did hear them. Heard also something else
to which my soldier's ears had made me very well accustomed: The
clank of steel-scabbarded swords against horses' flanks.

"It is the men we passed by the chapel," I said, "following us

now. Yet, if 'tis us they seek, why not stop us ere we left the town?
They could do as much against us there as here."

"They were but three then," the lad answered, calmly as though
he were counting guineas into his palm instead of the hoof-beats of
those on-coming horses; "now there are more--half a dozen, I
should say. If 'tis us they follow, they have waited to be reinforced."

And I felt sure that he had guessed right, since the very thought
which he expressed had already risen in my own mind.
 CHAPTER XIX.

THE SECOND FIGHT.

We had entered the forest five minutes later, and be very sure, we
wasted no more time in waiting for those behind to come up, since,
if 'twas us they followed, we might as well be in its shadow as in the
open. For if we were outnumbered the trees themselves would
afford us some shelter, make a palisade from behind which we might
get a shot at them if 'twas too hot for a hand-to-hand encounter. At
any rate, I had sufficient military knowledge to know that 'tis best to
fight against unequal odds with a base, or retreat, to fall back on,
than to be without one.

Yet as we rode into this forest I loosened my blade in its sheath,

and felt with my thumb to see that the priming of my pistols was
ready; also bade Juan do the same; likewise to keep behind me as
much as might be.

"For," said I, "if they mean attack I will give them no chance of
beginning it. The first hostile word, and I force my horse between
them, cutting right and left, and do you the same, following behind
me. Thereby you may chance to take off those whom I miss."

And I laughed--a little grimly, perhaps--as I spoke, for I thought

that if there were, indeed, six men behind us, my journey toward
Flanders was already as good as come to an end. Yet, all the same, I
laughed, for, strange though it may seem to those who have never
known the delights of crossed steel, a fight against odds had ever an
exhilarating effect upon me; which was, perhaps, as it should be
with a knight of the blade.

Juan, however, did not laugh at all, though he told me he would

follow my orders to the utmost, and, indeed, was so silent that I
asked him if his nerves were firm. To which he replied that I should
see when the moment came.

And now upon the crisp night air we heard the clang of those on-
coming hoofs ringing nearer and nearer; a rough or deadened kind
of sound told us the iron shoes were on the fallen leaves which
covered all the track from where the wood began; the scabbards of
the riders flapped noisily now against spur and horses' flanks; bridles
jangled very near.

Then they were close upon us--five of them!--and a voice called

out:

"Halt, there! You are Englishmen--one a sailor and a spy passing

through the land."

"You lie!" rang out Juan's voice, in answer. "We are not
Englishmen."

That his reply in fluent Spanish--the Spanish, too, of a gentleman,

and not of a common night patrol--astonished them, I could see.
The leader, he who had spoken, glanced round at his four comrades,
and, an instant after, spoke again:

"Who are you, then, and why does not the big man answer?"

"He speaks French. I am Spanish. Molest us not."

"Molest! Cuerpo di Baco! We are informed you are English.

Produce your papers!"

"We have none. They are lost."

 "Ho! ho! ho!" the leader replied. "Very well, very well. 'Tis as I
thought. That man is English; he is denounced this night. As for you,
the accursed English have many possessions wherein our tongue is
spoken. We understand."

And he gave, as I supposed, some order, since all advanced their

animals a few paces nearer, while, as they did so, Juan whispered to
me in the French: "Be ready, but do nothing yet."

"You will return to Chantada with us," the spokesman said, sitting
his horse quietly enough, yet with the blade of his drawn sword
glistening in the moonbeams as it lay across the creature's neck--as,
I observed, did the blades of all the others. "That finishes our affair.
For the rest you will answer to the Regidór."

"We shall not return. Our way lies on."

"So be it. Then we must take you," and, as he spoke, I saw a

movement of his knee--of all their knees--that told me they meant to
seize us.

And I knew that the time had come.

"At them!" cried Juan at the same moment. "Advance, Mervan!"

A touch to the curb, and my beast fell back--'twas a good animal,

that! had, I believe, been a charger in its day, so well it seemed to
know its work--then a free rein and another touch of the heel, and I
was amongst them, my sword darting like lightning around. Also, at
my rear, came the jennet's head; near me there flashed the steel of
Juan's lighter weapon; and in a moment we had crashed through
them--they fell away on either side of us like waves from a ship's
forefoot!--fell away for a moment, though closing again in an
instant.

"Return and charge!" I cried to Juan, still in French. "At them

again! See, one has got his quietus already!" As, indeed, he had, for
the great fellow was hanging over his horse's neck, in a limp and
listless fashion, which showed that he was done for. But now those
four closed together as we went at them, Juan stirrup to stirrup with
me in this second charge, and our tactics had to be changed. We
could no longer burst through them, so that it was a hand-to-hand
fight now; they had pistols in their holsters, but no chance to use
them; they could not spare a hand to find those holsters--could not
risk our swords through their unguarded breasts; wherefore we set
to work, blade to blade.

We should have won, I do believe. Already I had thrust through

and through one man's arm--as luck would have it, 'twas not the
sword arm--already they backed before our rain of blows and cuts
and thrusts, when, by untoward fate, my horse stumbled on the
frosty road and came down; came down upon his haunches, slipping
me from the saddle over the cantle and so to the earth; then
regained its hind legs once more and dashed out from the fray.

And now our position was mighty perilous. Above I saw Juan on
the jennet fencing well with two of the men; over me were the two
others cutting down at my head, though, since by God's mercy I had
retained my weapon, their blows were up to now unavailing. Yet I
knew this could not be for long--nor last--wherefore I cried:

"Save yourself, Juan, save yourself; disengage and flee."

Under my own blade, under those two others that beat upon it so
that I wondered it shivered not in my hand, I saw the boy manfully
holding his own--once, too, I saw him rip up the jerkin of one of his
opponents, and heard the latter give a yell of pain--then, "Great
God!" I thought, "what has happened now?"

For there was a fifth man upon the scene. A man, tall and
stalwart, mounted on a great, big boned, black horse, who had
suddenly sprung from out a chestnut copse by the side of the track;
a man in whose hands there gleamed a sword that a second later
was laced and entwined with those attacking Juan; a man who
hurled oaths in Spanish and French at them--I heard carambas and
por Diôs's and other words--which sounded like the rolling of some
great cathedral organ as they came from his deep throat--tonneres,
ventre-bleus and carrognes I heard.

Heavens! who was this man who beat back those others as a
giant might push back a handful of children; whose sword--even as
with one hand he grasped Juan round the waist--went through an
adversary's neck so that he fell groaning upon me, his blood
spurting as if from a spigot? Who was he who laughed loud and long
as, with one accord, all those still alive turned and fled back upon
the road they had come? Fled, leaving us, thanks be to God and this
new arrival, the victors of the fray.

He sat his horse calmly now, looking after their retreating figures,
his great sombrero slouched across his face, wiping his blade upon
the coal-black creature's mane; then, as their figures disappeared
from our view, he said in French:

"Warmer work this, Señor Belmonte, than twanging viols and

singing love songs, n'est-ce pas?" and from his throat there came
again that laugh.

Glancing up, I saw that which caused me to start, even as I heard

Juan say: "You! You here! And in this garb!"--saw that which made
me wonder if I had gone demented. For this man who had so
suddenly come to our rescue, this fine lame whose thrusts had won
the fray for us, was none other than the monk I had seen on board
La Sacra Familia, the holy man known there as Father Jaime.

And swiftly as I gazed up at him there came to my recollection old

Admiral Hopson's suspicions as to having seen him before, also the
imitation pass he had made across the table with the quill at his
brother-admiral, and his words:
 "'Twas not always the cowl and gown that adorned his person--
rather instead the belt and pistols--the long, serviceable rapier,
handy."

What did it mean?

Ere he answered either Juan's startled enquiries or my stare of

amazement, which he must very well have seen in the moon's rays
as I regarded him, he cantered off after my horse, which was
standing quietly in the forest side by side with that other animal on
whose neck the first wounded man had fallen--he was now lying
dead upon the ground!--and brought both back to where we were,
leading them by their reins.

"You will want your horse, monsieur," he said, "to continue your
journey. Bon Dieu! you both made a good fight of it, though they
would have beaten you had I not come up at the moment."

"Believe us, we both thank you more than words can express," I
said, while Juan sat his jennet, still breathing heavily from his
exertions, yet peering with all the power of those bright eyes at the
man before him, "but your appearance is so different from what it
was when last we met that--that I am lost in amazement. You were,
sir, a holy monk then."

"Cucullus non facit monachum," he replied, in what I recognised

to be very good Latin, then added, with a laugh: "In journeying
through dangerous places we are not always what we seem to be.
To wit: Monsieur was either an English soldier or sailor when I saw
him last--an enemy to Spain and France--hating both, as I should
suppose. Yet now he is a private gentleman, and, I imagine, desires
nothing less than that his real position should be known."

"But you--you," Juan interposed, "you were monk from the first
moment I set eyes on you, from the hour when we left Hispaniola.
Are you not one?"
 "My boy," he said, and as he spoke he touched Juan on the sleeve
as they both sat their horses side by side--I being also mounted
again by this time--"my boy, I replied to your companion just now
with a proverb. I answer you with another: 'Look not a gift horse in
the mouth.' I have saved your life, at least, if not this gentleman's.
And----"

But Juan stammering forth some words of regret for the curiosity
he had shown, he stopped him with still another touch on the
sleeve, and said:

"Briefly, let me tell this: I had reasons to be in Spain, to quit the

Indies and accompany the galleons, get a passage by some means.
It suited me to come disguised as a monk; there was no other way.
For, rightly or wrongly, both Spain and France are my enemies; in my
own proper character I could never have reached here. Being here, I
am still in danger if discovered; to avoid that discovery I have now
doffed the monkish garb, so that all traces of me are lost. Enough,
however; I am on my road to Lugo. Does your way lie the same
road?"

We both answered that it did, whereon he said, speaking quickly

and, as I noticed, in the tone of one who seemed very well used to
issuing orders, as well as accustomed to deciding for himself and
others:

"So be it. Let us ride together--and at once. Every moment we

tarry here makes our position more dangerous. Those men will no
sooner have returned to Chantada than every available soldier will
be sent forward to arrest us, even though we be in Lugo itself. You
will be recognised without doubt if you stay an instant in the town.
Your one chance is to get into it and out again as soon as may be.

"And you?" I asked, as now we put spurs to our horses and

dashed along the forest track. "And you? If any of those who were in
this affray return with the soldiers you speak of, it will be hard for
you, too, to escape recognition. Your form cannot be disguised."

"It will be disguised again," he answered very quietly, "when I

have once more resumed the monk's garb. I have it here," and he
tapped the great valise strapped on his horse's back. "It has not
been worn since I got ashore at Vigo, and that's far behind this by
many leagues. There are none here like to recognise me."

"You stay, then, in Lugo?"

"I must stay. I have affairs."

He said this so decidedly that we neither of us ventured to ask

him any more questions, though, a moment or two afterward, he
volunteered to us the statement that, if another horse he had
previously bought when he landed at Vigo had not broken down, he
would long ere this have been in Lugo. Only the finding of a fresh
animal--the one he now bestrode--had taken him some time, and
thereby caused him to be late on his road, which, as we said
gratefully enough, was fortunate for us.

"Ay," he replied, "it was; and also that I was breathing my animal
in the forest at the time those others overtook you. But, nom d'un
chou! I have been a fighter in my day myself, and, since I could not
see two men set upon by five, my old instincts were aroused;
though," he added, with extreme sang froid, "had it been an even
fray, I might have left you to it."

And now it seemed to both Juan and myself as though this man's
assistance to us necessitated us showing some confidence in him;
wherefore, very briefly, we gave him some description of why we
were travelling together, and of how, because Juan had naught else
of much importance to do at the outset of his arrival in Europe, he
had elected to be my companion as far as Flanders.
 "Humph!" he exclaimed at this, "he is a young knight errant, as I
told him oft enough in the galleon, when he talked some
rhodomontade about being on his way to Europe to seek out and
punish a villain who had wronged him. Well, sir, even if he finds not
the man, he is likely enough to meet with sufficient adventures in
your company ere he reaches Flanders."

"He thinks he has found him already," I said quietly, in reply.

"What!" and he turned his great eyes on both of us. "Found him.
Here in Spain!" and he laughed incredulously.

"He thinks nothing of the kind," Juan cried hotly, roused more, I
thought, by that scornful laugh than by my doubting words. "He is
sure of it!"

And then he told the whole story of our having seen the old man's
coach in the inn, of the black's insolent reply, of his departure at
night, and of the little doubt there could be that he it was who had
betrayed us to the people of Chantada; also he added:

"But I have him. Have him fast. He is but a league or so ahead of

us, must stop some hours, at least, in Lugo. And then--then, James
Eaton, look to yourself!"

As he uttered those words the black horse which the other

bestrode plunged forward, pricked, as I thought, by some
unintentional movement of the rider's spur, while that rider turned
round in his saddle and gazed at Juan, his face, as it seemed to me,
livid beneath the moonlight.

"Who? What name is that on your lips?"

"The name of a damned villain. The name of James Eaton."

"James Eaton. James Eaton--what is he to you, then? What evil

has he done to you?"
 "What evil?" Juan replied, with a bitter laugh. "What evil? and
what is he to me? Only this: He was left guardian to me by my dead
father, and--and--he ill-treated and robbed me. No more than that!"

"You! You! You!" this mysterious man said, his hand raised to his
eyebrows, his dark, piercing eyes gleaming beneath that hand--upon
his face a look I could not fathom. "You!"

CHAPTER XX.

"THE COWL DOES NOT ALWAYS MAKE THE MONK."

We were drawing very near to Lugo now, as the wintry morning

gave signs of breaking; already the great spurs and cañons of the
mountains that flanked the east side of the river Minho began to
shape themselves into something tangible and distinct from the dull
clouds at their summits, and their peaks and crags to stand out
clearly. Also, we noticed that villages were scattered about at the
base of these mountains; observed lights twinkling in the windows of
cottages, and passed a bridge which spanned the river and carried
on a road that led from that east side to the western one; a road
with, on it, a great pedestal of rock, serving, as others which we had
passed had served us, as milestones and finger-posts; a road
leading, as we learnt, from another Viana, different from the one in
Portugal at which Juan and I had landed from the English fleet.

We were drawing very near.

 For the last two or three hours we had ridden almost in silence,
knee to knee, all wrapped in our long cloaks, and with nothing
breaking in upon that silence but, sometimes, the hoot of an owl
from out the beeches and tamarisks which fringed the road, and
sometimes the scream of an eagle far up in the mountains, roused,
perhaps, from his eyrie by the clang of our animals' hoofs upon the
hard-bound, frosty earth.

Yet some words had been spoken, too, ere we lapsed into this
silence; for, as our friend and deliverer had exclaimed, "You! You!"
on hearing that James Eaton had robbed Juan of whatever might
have been left in his care by the lad's dead father, Juan himself had
quickly exclaimed:

"Is he known also to you, then?"

"He was once, long ago--ay, long ago!" Then he paused, as

though unwilling to tell more, though, a moment later, he said:

"And now you think he is ahead of us?--that we shall find him in

Lugo?"

"Without doubt," Juan and I answered, both speaking together,

while the former went on:

"He must halt for some time in Lugo, if only to get a change of
horses."

"'Tis my belief," I struck in, "he will do more than that. Judging
from what I learnt of him in the ship which brought us both from
Holland, Lugo is his destination, the end of his journey."

"Wherefore?" the man who had been "Father Jaime" asked.

"Because," I replied, "he was on his way to Cadiz, where, he

thought, as all did, that the galleons were going in. And he told me
in a frenzy, when he learnt that the English fleet was about in those
waters, that he had a fortune on board two of the galleons. Be sure,
therefore, he would follow them up to Vigo as soon as he could,
after being put ashore at Lagos and learning that much of the
treasure had been set ashore and then forwarded on to Lugo----"

"Would follow them here?" the other said. "Ha! Well, then, we
shall surely meet," and he laughed a little, very quietly, to himself.
"Must meet! And I--I shall have something to say to James Eaton--
shall recall myself to him. He will be pleased to see me!" and again
he laughed--though this time the laughter sounded grimly.

"I also shall have something to say to him," exclaimed Juan. "To--
--"

"Recall yourself to him also," the other broke in.

"Perhaps," the boy replied, "perhaps. We shall see, though it may

not be just at first."

"At first," said the other, taking him up, "let me present myself. I
assure you 'twill be best. Let me put in my claim to his attention.
Then you can follow suit."

"And I," I exclaimed, speaking now. "I, too, have something to

settle with Mr. James Eaton, if that be his name. I owe it to him that
my journey to Flanders has been interrupted by that scene upon the
road, owe it to him that I ran a very fair chance of never continuing
that journey further than a couple of leagues this side of Chantada.

"I believe, too, that it was he who drew the attention of a French
ship of war to the vessel which was carrying me and my intelligence
to Cadiz, as then supposed."

"How?" asked the ex-monk, "and why?"

"The reason wherefore," I replied, "might be because he

suspected my mission in some way. The manner in which he let the
French ship know of our whereabouts was probably by leaving open
the dead light of his cabin when he lay drinking, while all the others
were closed so as to avoid her. Oh! be sure," I continued, "when you
two have done with him I shall have an account also to make."

"We are three avengers," the other replied, with still that grim
laugh of his. "James Eaton will have other things to think of besides
getting back his treasure at Lugo, if it is there; for, when Señor
Belmonte and myself and you have finished with him--sir," he said,
breaking off and regarding me, "I do not know your name, how to
designate you. What may it be?"

"My name," I replied, "is Mervyn Crespin. May I ask by what we

are to address you? At present, at least, you do not style yourself
'Father Jaime,' I apprehend."

"Nay," he said. "Nay--not until I don the cowl again. But, see,
none of us, I should suppose, are desirous of travelling through this
hostile country, entering this town of Lugo, which may bristle with
dangers to all of us, under our right names. Therefore--though even
thus 'tis not desirous that these names should be spoken more often
than needs--I will be Señor Jaime. There are Jaimes for second
names, as well as first."

"And," exclaimed Juan, entering at once into the spirit of the

matter, "there are Juans for second names as well as first, also.
Therefore I will be Señor Juan."

"And I," I said, "since I pretend to speak no Spanish, but am

supposed to be a Frenchman, will be Monsieur Crespin. That is a
French name, as well as English. There are scores of Crespins in
Maine and Anjou--'tis from there we came originally. 'Twill do very
well."

So, this understanding arrived at, we rode on afterward in that

silence which I have told you of.
 But now it was full day, cold, crisp and bright, with the sun
topping the mountains to our left and sending down fair, warm
beams athwart the river, which served to put some life into us, as
well as a little extra heat besides that which the motion of our
horses and the glow of their bodies had hitherto afforded us.

Also, we had left the forest now and entered a great plain which
rolled away to the west of those mountains, and of the river which
brawled and splashed at their base; a plain that in summer was,
doubtless, covered with all the rich vegetation for which the north of
Spain is famed, but that now stretched bare as the palm of a hand,
and recalled to my mind the fair Weald of Kent when winter's icy
grip is on it. Yet 'twas well covered with villages, some close
together, some a league or two leagues apart, and, under where the
last spurs of the Cantabrian mountains swept round directly to the
west, we saw rise before us the high walls of a town, with above
them an incredible amount of towers--we making out between
twenty and thirty of these as each stride of our animals brought us
nearer to them.

"That," said Señor Jaime--as he was now to be called--though

God only knew what his right name was!--while our eyes regarded it
from still afar, "must be Lugo. Now let us decide for our plan of
action. And, first, as to getting into it."

"Do you make your entry," I asked, "as a gentleman travelling

through the land, or as priest--monk?"

"As monk!" he replied. "So best! I have other affairs here, besides
the desire of meeting my old friend, Eaton. Now, observe, this is
what I propose: You shall go first together--you will have no
difficulty in getting in, seeing that there is no frontier to cross. Nor
will you be asked for papers, since, once in, you will not get out
again unless you appear satisfactory to those who are there."
 "We must get out again after a short rest, after a few hours," I
replied. "I make no manner of doubt that by now we are followed
from Chantada--if those who are behind us reach Lugo ere we have
quitted it, we shall be stopped beyond all doubt."

Señor Jaime paused a moment ere he answered; pondering,

doubtless, on this being the case. Then, speaking slowly, he said:

"If--if--'twere possible that you," looking at me, "and you,"

regarding Juan, "could also enter the town disguised; could appear
as something vastly different from what you are, you would be safe;
we would remain together. And--and--that would please me. We
must not part, having met as we have done," and his eyes rested
particularly upon Juan as he spoke, so that I felt sure he would far
less willingly part with him than with me; that it was of this bright,
handsome boy he was thinking most.

"I," exclaimed Juan, "would, above all other things but one--that
one the not parting company with Mervan, my friend!"--how softly
he murmured those words, "my friend!"--"stay here. For I am
resolved to bring to bar that villain, James Eaton. But how--how to
do it? How to enter the town disguised? We do not travel with masks
and vizards, nor could we assume them an we did. Also, how to
change our appearance sufficiently to be unrecognised by any of
those behind?"

"For him," said Señor Jaime, addressing Juan, but looking at me,
"'tis easy enough. I can help him to change himself in a moment. I
have here," and he tapped the great valise strapped on to his
horse's back, "a second monk's gown, of another order than the one
I wore--that was a Carmelite's and, as you know, brown; the second
is a Dominican's, and white. The object which brings me to Europe--
later you shall know it--if it prospers, forced me to provide myself
with more than one disguise."
 Then after pausing a moment, perhaps to judge of the effect of
this announcement on us, he went on: "Well, Monsieur Crespin!
What do you say? Will you be a monk and stay with Juan till he has
seen his beloved friend, James Eaton, or will you insist on his
abandoning his interview with that personage and riding post-haste
to Flanders? Only remember, if he and you do so, or if you do this
alone, the chance is also missed of your having a reckoning with
that old man also."

Now I was sorely posed by this suggestion of his--sorely. For,

firstly, there was something bitterly distasteful to me, a soldier and, I
hoped, a brave one, in masquerading in any such guise as this
suggested. Also, I knew that it ill became me to tarry on my journey
back for any cause whatever, let alone a new formed friendship for
Juan Belmonte. My place was with the Cuirassiers, and with them I
ought to be--both the earls having hinted that there would be some
hard fighting ere long--while, as for revenging myself on the villain
whose name now seemed for a certainty to be Eaton, well! that
might easily be left to Señor Jaime and Juan. If they did not
between them very effectually confound that hoary-headed
scoundrel, I should be much astonished.

On the other hand, there were many things that made for my
disguising myself ere I entered Lugo, and, rapidly enough as I sat
my horse deliberating, those things ran through my mind. To begin
with, it would be full of Spanish and French soldiers and sailors, the
runaways from Vigo, who, undoubtedly, would have followed the
bulk of the treasure which had been removed from the galleons and
transported here; and it was possible that there might be some who
would recognise me, since I had played a pretty prominent part in
the attack. It might, therefore, be best that--little as this disguising
of myself was to my taste--I should do as Señor Jaime suggested.

Yet, all the same--and in the next moment--I decided that I would
not do this thing; for, besides that it was too repugnant to me, I
knew that it would be useless. And, knowing this, I said so, in spite
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