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"We have another such in the house," a turning found himself in a strange answered country with no landmark to guide him.

the sleepy doorkeeper, "though he travels with but one servant."

"We know that, my friend, which is the reason why we patronize your doghole of an inn. See that the two excellencies breakfast together at a table apart in the morning."

"You will have matters to speak about with the Señor Pleydell in the morning?" said Concepcion, as he unpacked Conyngham's luggage a few minutes later.

"Yes; I should like to speak to Señor ▲ leydell."

"And I," said Concepcion, turning round with a brush in his hand, "should like a moment's conversation with Señor Larralde."

"Ah!"

"Yes, excellency; he is in this matter, too. But the Señor Larralde is so modest-so modest! He always remains in the background."

In the tents of Kedar men sleep as sound as those who lie on soft pillows, and Conyngham was late astir the next morning. Sir John Pleydell was, it transpired, already at his breakfast, and had ordered his carriage for an early hour to take the road to Talavera. It was thus evident that Sir John knew nothing of the arrival of his fellowcountryman at midnight.

The cold face of the great lawyer wore a look of satisfaction as he sat at a small table in the patio of the hotel and drank his coffee. Conyngham watched him for a moment from the balcony of the courtyard, himself unseen, while Concepcion stood within his master's bedroom and rubbed his brown hands together in anticipation of a dramatic moment. Conyngham passed down the stone steps and crossed the patio with a gay smile. Sir John recognized him as he emerged from the darkness of the stairway, but his tace betrayed neither surprise nor fear. There was a look in the grey eyes, however, that seemed to betoken doubt. Such a look a man might wear who had long travelled with assurance upon a road which he took to be the right one, and then at

Sir John Pleydell had always outwitted his fellows; he had, in fact, been what is called a successful man-a little cleverer, a little more cunning than those around him.

He looked up now at Conyngham, who was drawing forward a chair to the neighboring table, and the cold eye, which had been the dread of many a criminal, wavered.

"The waiter has set my breakfast near to yours," said Conyngham, unconcernedly seating himself.

And Concepcion, in the balcony above, cursed the English for a cold-blooded race. This was not the sort of meeting he had anticipated. He could throw a knife very prettily, and gave a short sigh of regret as he turned to his peaceful duties.

Conyngham examined the simple fare provided for him, and then looked toward his companion with that cheerfulness which is too rare in this world, for it is born of a great courage, and outward circumstances cannot affect it. Sir John Pleydell had lost all interest in his meal, and was looking keenly at Conyngham, dissecting, as it were, his face, probing his mind, searching through the outward manner of the man, and running helplessly against a motive which he failed to understand.

"I have in my long experience found that all men may be divided into two classes," he said acidly.

"Fools and knaves," suggested Conyngham.

"You have practised at the bar," parenthetically.

Conyngham shrugged his shoulders. "Unsuccessfully; anybody can do

that."

"Which are you, a fool or a knave?" asked Sir John.

And suddenly Conyngham pitied him, for no man is proof against the quick sense of pathos aroused by the sight of man or dumb animal baffled. At the end of his life Sir John had engaged upon the greatest quest of it-an un

worthy quest, no doubt, but his heart was in it-and he was an old man, though he bore his years well enough.

"Perhaps that is the mistake you have always made," said Conyngham gravely. "Perhaps men are not to be divided into two classes. There may be some who only make mistakes, Sir John."

Unconsciously he had lapsed into the advocate, as those who have once played the part are apt to do. This was not his own cause, but Geoffrey Horner's; and he served his friend so thoroughly, that for the moment he really was the man whose part he had elected to play. Sir John Pleydell was no mean foe. Geoffrey Horner had succeeded in turning aside the public suspicion, and in the eternal march of events, of which the sound is louder as the world grows older and hollower, the murder of Alfred Pleydell had been forgotten by all save this cold-blooded avenger. Conyngham saw the danger, and never thought to avoid it. What had been undertaken half in jest would be carried out in deadly earnest.

"Mistakes!" said Sir John sceptically. dealing with the seamy side of life men come to believe that it is all stitches.

this difficulty which had never suggested itself to him before.

"Such mistakes have to be paid for, and the law assesses the price."

Conyngham shrugged his shoulders. "It is easy enough to say you are sorry; the law can make no allowance for regret."

Conyngham turned his attention to his breakfast, deeming it useless to continue the topic.

"It was a mistake to attend the meeting at Durham; you admit that," continued Sir John.

"Yes; I admit that, if it is any satisfaction to you."

"Then it was worse than a mistake to actually lead the men out to my house for the purpose of breaking the windows. It was almost a crime, I would suggest to you as a soldier, for the moment, to lead a charge up a steep hill against a body of farm laborers and others entrenched behind a railing."

"That is a mere matter of opinion."

"And yet you did that," said Sir John. "If you are going to break the law, you should ensure success before embarking on your undertaking."

Conyngham made no answer.

"It was also a stupid error, if I may say so, to make your way back to Dur

"Which they may pass the rest of ham by Ravensworth, where you were their lives in regretting."

Sir John looked sharply at his companion, with suspicion dawning in his eyes again. It was Conyngham's tendency to overplay his part. Later, when he became a soldier, and found that path in life for which he was best fitted, his superior officers and the cooler tacticians complained that he was overeager and in battle outpaced the men he led.

"Then you see now that it was a mistake," suggested Sir John. In crossexaminations the suggestions of Sir John Pleydell are remembered in certain courts of justice to this day. "Of course."

seen and recognized. You see, I have a good case against you, Mr. Conyngham."

"Yes, I admit you have a good case against me, but you have not caught me yet."

Sir John Pleydell looked at him coldly.

"You do not even take the trouble to deny the facts I have named." "Why should I when they are true?" asked Conyngham carelessly.

Sir John Pleydell leaned back in his chair.

"I have classified you," he said with a queer laugh.

"Ah!" answered Conyngham, sud

"To have mixed yourself in such an denly uneasy. affair at all?"

"Yes."

Sir John seemed to be softening, and Conyngham began to see a way out of

"Yes-as a fool."

He leaned forward with a deprecating gesture of his thin white hand.

"Do not be offended," he said, "and

do not reproach yourself for having given your case away. You never had a case, Mr. Conyngham. Chartists are not made of your material at all. As soon as you gave me your card in Madrid I had a slight suspicion. I thought you were travelling under a false name. It was plain to the merest onlooker that you were not the man I sought. You are too easy-going, too much of a gentleman to be a Chartist. You are screening somebody else. You have played the part well, and with an admirable courage and fidelity. I wish my boy Alfred had had a few such friends as you. No man on earth is worth the sacrifice that you have made."

Conyngham slowly stirred his coffee. He was meditating.

"You have pieced together a very pretty tale," he said at length, "some new scheme to get me within the reach of the English law, no doubt."

"It is a pretty tale, too pretty for practical life. And if you want proofs, I will mention the fact that the Chartist meeting was at Chester-le Street, not Durham; that my house stands in a hollow and not on a hill; that you could not possibly go to Durham via Ravensworth, for they lie in opposite directions. No, Mr. Conyngham, you are not the man I seek; and, strange to say, I took a liking to you when I first saw you. I am no believer in instinct, or mutual sympathy, or any such sentimental nonsense. 1 do not believe in much, Mr. Conyngham, and not in human nature at all. I know too much about it for that. But there must have been something in that liking for you at first sight. I wish you no harm. Mr. Conyngham. I am like Balaam. I came to curse, and now stay to bless; or perhaps I am more like Balaam's companion and adviser-I bray too much."

He sat back again with a queer smile. "You may go home to England tomorrow if you care to," he added, after a pause; "and if that affair is ever raked up against you, I will be your friend, if you will have me."

"Thank you."

"You do not want to go home to En

gland," suggested Sir John, whose ear was as quick as his eye.

"No; I have affairs in Spain."

"Or perhaps a castle here. Beware of such; I once had one."

And the cold, grey face softened for an instant. It seemed at times as if there were, after all, a man behind that marble casing.

"A man who can secure such friendship as yours has proved itself to be," said Sir John after a short silence, “can scarcely be wholly bad. He may, as you say, have made a mistake. I promise nothing, but perhaps I will make no further attempts to find him."

Conyngham was silent. To speak would have been to admit.

"So far as I am concerned," said Sir John, rising, "you are safe in this or any country. But, I warn you, you have a dangerous enemy in Spain."

"I know," answered Conyngham with a laugh-"Mr. Esteban Larralde. I once undertook to deliver a letter for him. It was not what he represented it to be, and after I had delivered it he began to suspect me of having read it. He is kind enough to consider me of some importance in the politics of this country, owing to the information I am supposed to possess. I know nothing of the contents of the letter, but I want to regain it if only for a few moments. That is the whole story, and that is how matters stand between Larralde and myself."

CHAPTER XXII.

REPARATION.

"Il s'en faut bien que l'innocence trouvé autant de protection que le crime."

For those minded to leave Spain at this time there was but one routenamely, the south, for the northern exits were closed by the Carlists, still in power there, though waning fast. Indeed, Don Carlos was now illustrating the fact, which any may learn by the study of the world's history, that it is not the great causes, but the great men who have made and destroyed nations. Nearly half of Spain was for Don Carlos. The Church sided with him, and the best soldiers were those who, un

paid, unfed, and half clad, fought on the southern slopes of the Pyrenees for a man who dared not lead them.

Sir John Pleydell had intended crossing the frontier into Portugal, following the carriage conveying his prisoner to the seaport of Lisbon, where he anticipated no difficulty in finding a ship captain who would be willing to convey Conyngham to England. All this, however, had been frustrated by so unimportant a person as Concepcion Vara, and the carriage ordered for nine o'clock to proceed to Talavera now stood in the courtyard of the hotel, while the baronet in his lonely apartment sat and wondered what he should do next. He had dealt with justice all his life, and had ensured it not from love, but as a matter of conscience and a means of livelihood. From the mere habit, he now desired to do justice to Conyngham.

"See if you can find out for me the whereabouts of General Vincente at the moment, and let the carriage wait," he said to his servant, a valet-courier of taciturn habit.

The man was about half an hour, and returned with a face that promised little.

"There is a man in the hotel, sir," he said, "the servant of Mr. Conyngham, who knows, but will not tell me. I am told, however, that a lady living in Toledo, a Contessa Barenna, will undoubtedly have the information. General Vincente was lately in Madrid, but his movements are so rapid and uncertain that he has become a by-word in Spain."

"So I understand. I will call on this contessa this afternoon, unless you can get the information elsewhere during the morning. I shall not want the carriage."

Sir John walked slowly to the window, deep in thought. He was interested in Conyngham despite himself. It is possible that he had not hitherto met a man capable of so far forgetting his own interests as to undertake a foolish and dangerous escapade, without anything in the nature of gain or advantage to recommend it. The win

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dows of the hotel of the Red Hat, in Toledo, look out upon the market-place, and Sir John, who was an indoor man, and mentally active enough to be intensely bored at times, frequently used this opportunity of studying Spanish life.

He was looking idly through the vile panes when an old priest passed by and glanced up beneath shaggy

brows.

"Seen that man before," said Sir John.

"Ah!" muttered Father Concha, as he hurried on toward the Palazzo Barenna. "So far, so good. Where the fox is will be found the stolen fowl."

Concepcion Vara, who was saddling his horse in the stable-yard of the inn, saw the padre pass.

"Ah, clever one!" he muttered; "with your jokes about my wife. Now you may make a false journey for all the help you receive from me."

And a few minutes later Concepcion rode across the ridge of Alcantara, some paces behind Conyngham, who deemed it wise to return to his duties at Madrid without delay.

Despite the great heat on the plains, which, indeed, made it almost dangerous to travel at midday, the streets of Toledo were cool and shady enough as Sir John Pleydell traversed them in search of the Palazzo Barenna. The contessa was in, and the Englishman was ushered into a vast room, which even the taste of the day could not entirely deprive of its mediæval grandeur, Sir John explained, in halting Spanish, that his name was unknown to the Contessa Barenna, but that, a stranger in some slight difficulty, he had been recommended to seek her assistance.

Sir John was an imposing-looking man, with that grand air which enables some men not only to look, but to get over a wall while an insignificant wight may not so much as approach the gate. The señora's curiosity did the rest. In a few minutes the rustle of silk made Sir John turn from the contemplation of a suit of armor.

"Madame speaks French?" "But yes, señor."

Madame Barenna glanced toward a chair, which Sir John hastened to bring forward. He despised her already, and she admired his manner vastly.

"I have taken the immense liberty of intruding myself upon your notice, madame"

"Not to sell me a Bible?" exclaimed Señora Barenna, with her fan upheld in warning.

"A Bible! I believe I have one at home, in England, madame, but" "It is well," said madame, sinking back and fanning herself rather faintly. "Excuse my fears, but there is an Englishman-what is his name, I for

get"

"Borrow."

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She finished the sentence with a shrug and an expressive gesture of the fan.

"One naturally desires to read them," suggested Sir John; "the privilege of all Eve's daughters, madame."

Señora Barenna treated the flatterer to what the French call a fine sourire, and wondered how long Julia would stay away. This man would pay her another compliment in a moment.

"I merely called on the excuse of a common friendship, to ask if you can tell me the whereabouts of General Vincente," said Sir John, stating his business in haste and when the opportunity presented itself.

"Is it politics?" asked the lady, with a hasty glance round the room.

"No; it is scarcely politics; but why do you ask? You are surely too wise, madame, to take part in such. It is a woman's mission to please, and when it is so easy!"

He waved his thin white hand in com

pletion of a suggestion which made his hearer bridle her stout person.

"No, no," she whispered, glancing over her shoulder at the door-—“no; it is my daughter. Ah, señor, you can scarce imagine what is it to live upon a volcano!"

And she pointed to the oak floor with her fan. Sir John deemed it wise to confine his display of sympathy to a glance of the deepest concern.

"No," he said; "it is merely a personal matter. I have a communication to make to my friend, General Vincente, or to his daughter.”

"To Estella?"

"To the Señorita Estella."

"Do you think her beautiful? Some do, you know. Eyes, I admit-yes, lovely."

"I admire the señorita exceedingly.

"Ah, yes-yes! You have not seen my daughter, have you, señor? Julia. She rather resembles Estella."

The contessa paused and examined her fan with a careless air.

"Some say," she went on, apparently with reluctance, "that Julia is-wellhas some advantages of Estella. But I do not, of course. I admire Estella excessively-oh, yes-yes."

And the señora's dark eyes searched Sir John's face. They might have found more in sculptured marble.

"Do you know where she is?" asked Sir John, almost bluntly. Like a workman who has mistaken his material, he was laying aside his finer conversational tools.

"Well, I believe they arrive in Toledo this evening. I cannot think why. But with General Vincente one never knows. He is so pleasant, so playful, such a smile; but you know him. Well, they say in Spain, that he is always where he is wanted. Ah!"- madame paused and cast her eyes up to the ceiling"what it is to be wanted somewhere, señor!"

And she gave him the benefit of one of her deepest sighs. Sir John mentally followed the direction of her glance, and wondered what the late count thought about it.

"Yes, I am deeply interested in Es

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