IN KEDAR'S TENTS.1

BY HENRY SETON MERRIMAN, AUTHOR OF "THE SOWERS."

CHAPTER IX.

A WAR OF WIT.

"La discrétion est l'art du mensonge."

The alcalde blew out his cheeks and looked at General Vincente. Señora Barenna would with small encouragement have thrown herself into Conyngham's arms, but she received none whatever, and instead frowned at Julia.

Estella was looking haughtily at her father, and would not meet Conyngham's glance.

"I feel sure," said General Vincente, in his most conciliating manner, "that my dear Julia will see the necessity of satisfying the good alcalde by showing him the letter, with, of course the consent of my friend Conyngham."

He laughed and slipped his hand within Conyngham's arm.

"You see, my dear friend," he said in English, "these local magnates are a little inflated; local magnitude is a little inclined to inflate-eh? Ha! ha! And it is so easy to conciliate them. I always try to do so myself. Peace at any price, that is my motto."

And he turned aside to arrange his sword, which dragged on the ground. “Tell her, my dear Conyngham, to let the old gentleman read the letter."

"But it is nothing to do with me, general."

"I know that, my friend, as well as you do," said Vincente, with a sudden change of manner which left the Englishman with an uncomfortable desire

to know what he meant. But General Vincente, in pursuit of that peace which had earned him such a terrible reputation in war, turned to Señora Barenna with his most reassuring smile.

"It is nothing, my dear Iñez," he said. "In these times of trouble the officials are so suspicious, and our dear alcalde knows too much. He remembers dear Julia's little affair with Esteban Larralde, now long since lived down and forgotten. Larralde is, it ap

1 Copyright, 1896, by Henry Seton Merriman.

pears, a malcontent, and on the wrong side of the wall. You need have no uneasiness. Ah! your nerves; yes, I know. A great sufferer-yes, I remember. Patience, dear Iñez, patience."

And he patted her stout white hand affectionately.

The alcalde was taking snuff with a stubborn air of disbelief, glancing the while suspiciously at Conyngham, who had eyes for none but Estella.

"Alcalde," said General Vincente. "the incident is past, as we say in the diplomatic service—a lemonade now."

"No, general, the incident is not past, and I will not have a lemonade." "Oh!" exclaimed General Vincente

in gentle horror.

"Yes. This young lady must give me the letter or I call in my men."

"But your men could not touch a lady, my dear alcalde."

"You may be the alcalde of Ronda," said Conyngham cheerfully, in continuation of the general's argument, "but if you offer such an insult to Señorita Barenna, I throw you into the fountain -in the deepest part, where it is wettest just there by the marble dolphin.” And Conyngham indicated the exact spot with his riding-whip.

"Who is this gentleman?" asked the alcalde. The question was, in the first place, addressed to space and the gods. After a moment the speaker turned to General Vincente.

"A prospective aide-de-camp of General Espartero."

At the mention of the great name the mayor of Ronda became beautifully less. and half bowed to Conyngham.

"I must do my duty," he said, with the stubbornness of a small mind.

"And what do you conceive that to be, my dear alcalde?" inquired the general.

"To place the Señorita Barenna under arrest, unless she will hand to me the letter she has in her possession."

Julia looked at him with a smile. She was a brave woman playing a dangerous game with consummate courage. and never glanced at Conyngham, who with an effort kept his hand away from the pocket where the letter lay con

cealed. The manner in which she trusted him unreservedly and entirely was in itself cunning enough, for it appealed to that sense of chivalry which is not yet dead in men despite the advance of women.

"Place me under arrest, Señor Alcalde," she said indifferently, "and when you have satisfied me that you have a right to inspect a lady's private correspondence, I will submit to be searched, but not before."

form, had appeared in the doorway of the house.

"What the deuce we are all trying to do I don't know," reflected Conyngham, who, indeed, was sufficiently at sea to awake the most dormant suspicions.

The alcalde, now thoroughly aroused, protested his inability to neglect a particle of his duty at this troubled period of Spain's history, and announced his intention of placing Julia Barenna un

Señora Barenna took this opportunity of asserting herself and nerves. She sat heavily down on a stone seat and wept. She could hardly have done better, for she was a countess in her own right, and the sight of highborn tears distinctly unnerved the alcalde.

"Well," he said, "the señorita has made her own choice. In these times (ne glanced nervously at the weeping lady) one must do one's duty."

"My dear Julia," protested the general, "you who are so sensible"

Julia shrugged her shoulders and laughed. She not only trusted Conyngham, but relied upon his intelligence. It is, as a rule, safer to confide in the honesty of one's neighbor than in his wit. Better still, trust in neither. Conyngham, who was quick enough when the moment required it, knew that she was fostering the belief that the letter at that moment in his pocket was in her possession. He suspected also that he and Julia Barenna were playing with life and death. Further, he recognized her and her voice. This was the woman who had shown discrimination and calmness in face of a great danger on the Garonne. Had this Englishman, owning as he did to a strain of Irish blood, turned his back upon her and danger at such a moment, he would assuredly have proved himself untrue to the annals of that race which has made a mark upon the world that will never be wiped out. He looked at the alcalde and smiled, whereupon that official turned and made a signal with his hand to a man who, dressed in a quiet uni

him the letter she had received from Conyngham.

"I am quite prepared," he added, "to give this caballero the benefit of the doubt, and assume that he has been in this matter the tool of unscrupulous persons. Seeing that he is a friend of General Vincente's, and has an introduction to his excellency the Duke of Vittoria, he is without the pale of my jurisdiction."

The alcalde made Conyngham a profound bow, and proceeded to conduct Julia and her indignant mother to their carriage.

"There goes," said General Vincente, with his most optimistic little chuckle, "a young woman whose head will always be endangered by her heart." And he nodded toward Julia's retreating form.

Estella turned and walked away by herself.

"Come," said the general to Conyngham, "let us sit down; I have news for you. But what a susceptible heart, my dear young friend-what a susceptible heart! Julia is, I admit, a very pretty girl-la beauté du diable-eh? But on so short an acquaintance rather rapid-rather rapid!"

As he spoke he was searching among some letters, which he had produced from his pocket, and at length found an official envelope that had already been opened.

"I have here," he said, "a letter from Madrid. You have only to proceed to the captain, and there, I hope, a post awaits you. Your duties will at present be of a semi-military character, but later, I hope, we can show you some

fighting. This pestilential Cabrera is not yet quelled, and Morella still holds out. Yes, there will be fighting."

"When does his excellency take the road again?" he said. "I am ready. The guardia civile were mistaken this

"If that is what you want," he added. "Yes, that is what I want."

The general nodded and rose, pausing to brush a few grains of dust from his dapper riding breeches.

"Come," he said, "I have seen a horse which will suit you, at the cavalry quarters in the Calle de Bobadilla. Shall we go and look at him?"

Conyngham expressed his readiness to do as the general proposed.

"When shall I start for Madrid?" he asked.

"Oh, to-morrow morning will be time enough," was the reply, uttered in an easy-going, indolent tone, "if you are early astir. You see, it is now nearly five o'clock, and you could scarcely be in the saddle before sunset."

"No," laughed Conyngham; "scarcely, considering that I have not yet bought the saddle or the horse."

The general led the way into the house, and Conyngham thought of the letter in his pocket. He had not yet read the address. Julia relied upon him to deliver it, and her conduct toward the alcalde had the evident object of gaining time for him to do so. She had unhesitatingly thrust herself into a position of danger to screen him and further her own indomitable purpose. He thought of her, still as from a distance at which Estella had placed him, and knew that she not only had a disquieting beauty, but cleverness and courage, which are qualities that outlast beauty and make a woman powerful forever.

When he and his companion emerged from the great doorway of the house into the sunlight of the Calle Mayor a man came forward from the shade of a neighboring doorway. It was Concepcion Vara, leisurely and dignified, twirling a cigarette between his brown fingers. He saluted the general with one finger to the brim of his shabby felt hat, as one great man might salute another. He nodded to Conyngham.

upon my name."

He shrugged his shoulder and waived away the slight put upon him with the magnanimity of one who can forgive and forget.

"I take the road to-morrow; but our contract ceased at Ronda. I had no intention of taking you on."

"You are not satisfied with me?" inquired Concepcion, offering his interlocutor the cigarette he had just made. "Oh, yes."

"Buen! We take the road together." "Then there is nothing more to be said?" inquired Conyngham, with a good-natured laugh.

"Nothing, except the hour at which your excellency starts."

"Six o'clock," put in General Vincente quietly. "Let me see; your name is Concepcion Vara."

"Yes, excellency, of Algeciras."

"It is well. Then serve this gentleman well, or else" the general paused and laughed in his most deprecating manner.

Concepcion seemed to understand, for he took off his hat and turned gravely away. The general and Conyngham walked rapidly through the streets of Ronda, than which there are none cleaner in the whole world, and duly bought a great black horse at a price which seemed moderate enough to the Englishman, though the vendor explained that the long war had made horseflesh rise in value. Conyngham, at no time a keen bargainer, hurried the matter to an end, and scarce examined the saddle. He was anxious to get back to the garden of the great house in the Calle Mayor before the cool of the evening came to drive Estella indoors.

"You will doubtless wish to pack your portmanteau," said the general rather breathlessly, as he hurried along with small steps beside Conyngham.

"Yes," answered that Englishman ingenuously-"yes, of course."

"Then I will not detain you," said

General Vincente; "I have affairs at headquarters. We meet at dinner, of course."

waistcloth, a spotless shirt, and a flower in the ribbon of his hat.

He was dignified and leisurely, but so

The sun had not set when Conyngham with a beating heart made his way through the house into the garden. He had never been so serious about any thing in his life; indeed, his life seemed only to have begun in that garden. Estella was there. He saw her black dress and mantilla through the trees, and the gleam of her golden hair made his eyes almost fierce for a moment.

"I am going to-morrow morning," he said bluntly, when he reached her where she sat in the shade of a mi

mosa.

She raised her eyes for a moment, deep velvet eyes, with a glowing depth of passion in them that made his heart leap within his breast.

"And I love you, Estella," he added. "You may be offended, you may despise me, you may distrust me; but nothing can alter me. I love you now and ever."

She drew a deep breath and sat motionless.

"How many women does an Englishman love at once?" she asked coldly at length.

"Only one, señorita."

He stood looking at her for a moment. Then she rose and walked past him into the house.

CHAPTER X.

THE CITY OF DISCONTENT.

"En paroles ou en actions, être discret, c'est s'abstenir."

"There is," observed Frederick Conyngham to himself, as he climbed into the saddle in the grey dawn of the following morning, "there is a certain picturesqueness about these proceedings which pleases me."

Concepcion Vara, indeed, supplied a portion of this romantic atmosphere, for he was dressed in the height of contrabandista fashion, with a bright-colored handkerchief folded round his head underneath his black hat, a scarlet

his leg across his horse. A dark-eyed maiden had come as far as the corner of the Calle Veija, and stood there watching him with mournful eyes. He waved her salutation as he passed.

"It is the waiting-maid at the venta where I stay in Ronda. What will you?" he explained to Conyngham with a modest air, as he cocked his hat further on one side.

The sun rose as they emerged from the narrow streets into the open country that borders the road to Bobadilla. A pastoral country this, where the land needs little care to make it give more than man requires for his daily food. The evergreen oak studded over the whole plain supplies food for countless pigs, and shade, where the herdsmen may dream away the sunny days. The rich soil would yield two or even three crops in the year were the necessary seed and labor forthcoming. Underground the mineral wealth outvies the richness of the surface, but national indolence leaves it unexplored.

"Before General Vincente one could not explain one's self," said Concepcion, urging his horse to keep pace with the trot of Conyngham's mount.

"Ah!"

"No," pursued Concepcion; “and yet it is simple. In Algeciras I have a wife. It is well that a man should travel at times. So"-he paused and bowed toward his companion with a gesture of infinite condescension-"so we take the road together."

"As long as you are pleased, Señor Vara," said Conyngham, "I am sure I can but feel honored. You know I have no money."

The Spaniard shrugged his shoulders. "What matter?" he said "what matter? We can keep an account-a mere piece of paper-so, Concepcion Vara, of Algeciras, in account current with F. Conyngham, Englishman. One month's wages at one hundred pesetas. It is simple."

"Very," acquiesced Conyngham; "it

is only when pay-day comes that things will get complicated."

Concepcion laughed.

"You are a caballero after my own heart," he said. "We shall enjoy ourselves in Madrid. I see that."

Conyngham did not answer. He had remembered the letter and Julia Barenna's danger. He rose in his stirrups and looked behind him. Ronda was already hidden by intervening hills, and the bare line of the roadway was unbroken by the form of any other travel ler.

"We are not going to Madrid yet," said Conyngham; "we are going to Xeres, where I have business. Do you know the road to Xeres?"

have refused his assistance to a man, however hard pressed.

"Cannot leave the girl in a hole," he had said to himself, and proceeded to act upon this resolution with a steadiness of purpose for which some may blame him.

It was evening when the two travellers reached Xeres, after some weary hours of monotonous progress through the vine-clad plains of this country.

"It is no wonder," said Concepcion, "that the men of Xeres are malcontents when they live in a country as flat as the palm of my hand."

It happened to be a fête day, which in Spain, as in other countries farther north, is synonymous with mischief. The men of Xeres had taken advantage

"What do you mean?"

sire for more. They had marched through the streets with banner and song, arrayed in their best clothes, fostering their worst thoughts. They had consumed marvellous quantities of that small amontillado, which is, as it were, as thin fire to the blood, heating and degenerating at once. They had talked much nonsense and listened to more.

"Yes, excellency, by asking the way," replied Concepcion with an easy laugh, and he struck a sulphur match on the neck of his horse to light a fresh cigarette.

Thus with an easy heart Frederick Conyngham set out on his journey, having for companion one as irresponsible as himself. He had determined to go to Xeres, though that town of illrepute lay far to the westward of his road toward the capital. It would have been simple enough to destroy the letter entrusted to him by Julia Barenna, a stranger whom he was likely never to see again-simple enough and infinitely safer, as he suspected, for the billet doux of Mr. Larralde smelt of grimmer things than love. But Julia Barenna, wittingly or in all innocence, appealed to that sense of chivalry which is essentially the quality of lonely men who have never had sisters, and Conyngham was ready to help Julia where he would

to them so long as they had a change of some sort. In the mean time they had a desire to break something, if only to assert their liberty.

A few minutes before Conyngham and his guide rode into the market-place, which in Xeres is as long as a street, some of the free sons of Spain had thought fit to shout insulting remarks to a passer-by. With a fire too bright for his years, this old gentleman, with fierce white moustache and imperial, had turned on them, calling them goodfor-nothings and sons of pigs.

Conyngham rode up just in time to see the ruffians rise as one man and rush at the victim of their humor. The old man with his back to the wall beat back his assailants with a sort of fierce joy in his attitude which betokened the old soldier.

"Come on, Concepcion," cried Conyngham, with a dig of the spurs that made his tired horse leap into the air. He charged down upon the gathering