Around the sides of this lower hall were suspended arms and accoutrements. There were also rude massive benches, upon which were flung rugs and blankets. Here and there were little groups, not only of men, but also of women and children. On the left side there was an enormous chimney, which was large enough for a separate chamber. In this a fire was burning, and a woman was attending to the cooking of a savory stew. An aromatic smell of coffee was diffusing itself through the atmosphere; and this was surrounded and intermingled with the stronger and ranker, though less pungent, odors of the stew aforesaid.
The priest flung himself carelessly into a seat near a massive oaken table, and the Carlist chief took a seat beside him. The priest questioned the chief very closely as to his doings, and the disposition of his people through the country, while the chief surveyed the priest furtively and cautiously.
At last he said, abruptly,
"You were on the train yesterday."
"I was," replied the priest, coolly.
"Why did you not tell me who you were?"
"What a question to ask!" said the priest. "Don't you understand? When I am out I don't want any one to know or suspect. I did not choose to tell even you. Why should I? I didn't know you."
"But you lost your purse," said the chief, in rather a humble voice.
"And was there much in it?" asked the Priest.
The chief laughed.
Breakfast now followed, and of this the priest partook heartily. Then he started up.
"I must make haste," said he, "and continue my journey; but as I am going into out-of-the-way places, I shall have to ask you for some supplies."
This request was very cheerfully granted, loaves and cold meats being furnished from the Carlist larder. These the priest put into a wallet, and thus equipped, he was ready for the march.
"Adios," said he, "noble captain, till we meet again."
"Adios," said the chief.
The priest then shook hands with his entertainer and turned away. Leaving the castle, he walked down the slope for some distance, until at length he reached the skirts of the forest. Turning round here, he stood looking back cautiously, till he felt convinced that he had not been followed, and was not observed. He now plunged into the forest, and worked his way along until he came to the chasm and found the path before mentioned. Down this he went on his way back to the tower.
CHAPTER XI. — HOW THE FIRST PRIEST VANISHES, AND ANOTHER PRIEST APPEARS UPON THE
SCENE.
As the priest emerged from the brushwood at the top of the path, he suddenly found himself face to face with the lady. She had come through the opening, and was standing outside waiting there, breathless, her hands clasped, and her eyes set in a fixed and eager gaze of vigilant outlook and of terrified apprehension. As she recognized the priest, her whole expression changed; her face flushed, her eyes grew moist with tears of joy, her lips quivered.
"Oh, thank God! thank God!" she cried. "Oh, how glad I am!"
The priest stood and looked at her in silence, although there was certainly every occasion for saying something. Finally he held out his hand, and she took it in hers, which were cold as ice, and tremulous.
"Poor child!" said the priest, "you have been too excited. But were you not afraid that it might be some one else?"
"Yes," said she; "so afraid that I lost all strength and could not get back. I thought I heard something like that little short laugh of yours that you give, but then it seemed imagination. So I waited, and if it had been an enemy he would have caught me. But I was right, after all," she ended, joyously. "It was your laugh—and you."
Again the priest stood in silence looking at her.
"It's worth going over there," said he at last, "to make a fellow-creature happy by coming back."
"Oh no," she said, "not for that. Nothing can compensate for the frightful, the terrible anxiety—nothing. But I will say no more. I am ready now for any fatigue or peril. My worst fear is over."
"Oh, it's all very well to be glad to see me," said the priest, with that short laugh to which the lady had referred, "but that's nothing to the gladness you'll feel when you see what I've brought back with me. You just wait and see—that's all!"
With these words he ascended into the tower through the gap, and assisted the lady after him. They then went up the broken stairway, and out into the open air to the fallen tree where they had taken their breakfast. Upon this he seated himself, and the lady did the same. He now opened the wallet, and distributed to her some of his stock of provisions, pointing out to her with an air of triumph the fact that they had enough to last them for a week. The lady said but little and ate but little; the priest, for his part, ate less; so the breakfast was soon despatched; after which the priest loaded his pipe and smoked the smoke of peace.
The priest, as he smoked, occasionally threw a furtive glance at the lady, who now sat absorbed in her own meditations.
"I propose to ask you a few questions," said the priest, "merely for the sake of conversation, and you needn't answer unless you like. In the first place, you haven't been long in Spain, I take it?"
"No," said the lady; "only a few days."
"And you are on your way back to England?"
"Yes."
"Have you been travelling alone?"
"At first I had a maid, but she got frightened and left me at Bayonne. Since then I have had to travel alone."
"You mustn't think me too inquisitive," said the priest. "I merely wished to know in a general way, and am by no means trying to pry into your affairs."
He spoke in a careless tone. He was lolling in an easy attitude, and appeared to be enjoying his smoke very much. After saying these words he began to fuss with his pipe, which did not draw well, humming to himself at the same time some absurd verses:
"My love he was a draper's clerk, He came to see me after dark: Around the Park we used to stray To hear the lily-white bandsmen play.
CHORUS OF DRAPER'S CLERKS.
Hark! from the tombs a doleful sound, My love lies buried underground!"
A faint smile came over the lady's face as she heard these nonsensical words from one in the garb of a priest. Still, she reflected that while it was his voice that was singing, his mind was no doubt intent on something else.
"By-the-bye," resumed the priest, "as I'm asking questions, I should like to ask one more. May I?"
"Most certainly," said the lady. "What is it?"
"Well, your name, you know. It's awkward to be as we are. Now, if I were shot, and wanted you to help me, I shouldn't know what to call you."
The lady smiled.
"My name is Talbot," said she.
"Ah—Mrs. Talbot," said the priest; "thanks."
"Not 'Mrs.'" said the lady, again smiling; "Miss Talbot. My full name is Sydney Talbot."
"Sydney Talbot,"