A Castle in Spain Part 54

"Very well," said Harry; "and now, Mr. Ashby, here is the pistol."

Saying this, he handed the weapon to Ashby, who took it with a slight bow, but in silence.

Harry now measured off twelve paces once more, and reached the spot which he had before marked out, upon which he turned and, standing erect, faced Ashby.

"Mr. Ashby," said he, "are you ready? If so, take aim, and I will give the word."

Ashby raised the pistol and took aim. The weapon covered Harry, and he knew it. He knew also that Ashby was a "dead shot." But not a nerve quivered. He stood up there as straight as a ramrod, and then, in a calm, clear voice, with his usual self-possession, said:

"One; two; three. _Fire_!"

[Ill.u.s.tration: "Whoroo, Lads! This Bates The Worruld, So It Does."]

For a moment Ashby stood with his pistol thus covering Harry.

Then his arm fell.

"I cannot," said he--"I cannot fire, in cold blood, on an unarmed man."

Now, had Ashby stood thus, with a pistol, in the full heat of his first fury, he would have tired, without stopping to think; but the effect of their enforced courtesy to one another, and more particularly of the somewhat tedious preliminaries, had been to calm and even chill his hot anger, and to subdue all his fierce excitement. As he stood there, with his pistol levelled, and saw Harry's cool, calm face, it seemed like butchery. He could not fire.

And so his hand dropped down with this exclamation.

"But my turn is to come."

"Oh, that's nothing," said Ashby. "You may have your turn now, if you choose."

"Oh no," said Harry, "I can't take my turn until after you have fired; and the worst of it is, I don't see how we can settle this difficulty, if we don't do it now."

"Other chances will, no doubt, occur," said Ashby.

"Pardon me," said Harry, "that is hardly probable, and, besides, that will not help the matter. In fact, it will only make it worse. For you see, if some time should elapse before such a meeting, the recollection of this affair would be so faint that I could not go into it with any spirit; whereas now I am all c.o.c.ked and primed. So fire away, my dear fellow, for I really don't want to have an affair of this sort hanging over me the rest of my life. We must have it out, and now's the time."

"Will you not fire first, Mr. Rivers?" said Ashby, earnestly.

"Oh no, that would make all our preparations childish," was the reply. "We have appealed to Fortune, and her decision has been given."

Ashby drew a long breath.

"Mr. Rivers," said he, "I cannot shoot an unarmed man in cold blood."

"But what can we do?" said Harry.

"Why, we may be able to borrow a couple of rifles, or even one rifle, from our friends here."

Upon this a voice rang out, full and clear, in the room:

"Begorra, an' that same they'll do. Whoroo, lads! this bates the worruld, so it does. It's mesilf that's stud by the dure for the last tin minutes, an' I've seen a soight that I won't forget till me dyin'

day. It's loike the toime whin the Irish exiles at Fontenoy marched up to the English gyards an' said, 'Gintlemen av the English Gyards, fire first!' Begorra, it's mesilf that 'ud be the proud man to lend yez the loan av a couple av guns; but don't be alarrumed, darlints--afther yez pay yer ranshom, ye'll have a chance."

At the first sound of that voice Harry and Ashby started in amazement. So intent had they been on their own business that they had heard nothing; and Ashby, though facing the door, had been so intent on Harry that he had not noticed that it had been half opened.

Now they saw the Carlist chief come in, followed by half a dozen of his men. Most amazing of all was the discovery that he spoke English with an Irish brogue. Katie had already mentioned this to Harry, but he had not thought much about it. Now, face to face with "His Majesty," they were able to look at him with other feelings. Had he entered under other circ.u.mstances, he would have talked Spanish; but so excited was he that he burst forth in the manner above detailed.

"For ye see," said "His Majesty"--

"'Mesilf does admire the best, Av alll that's undher the sun, To stand faciu' the friend av me sowl, Wid blunderbus, pistol, or gun.

The word av command it is given, The wenpon we both av us raises, Afther which--sure the one laves for home, Aa' off goes the other to blazes!'"

CHAPTER x.x.xIV.

HOW THE VIRTUOUS RUSSELL FINDS A FRIEND IN NEED.

It is necessary here to go back for a brief interval in order to take up the fortunes of one who some time ago disappeared from these pages.

The virtuous Russell was alone. He had pa.s.sed a night which, considering his situation, had not been altogether uncomfortable. He had slept a refres.h.i.+ng sleep, and in the land of dreams had been able to forget the ills of life. Morning came, however, and with his waking thoughts there returned the recollection of the past, and the full consciousness of his present position. He was a captive in a prison from which he could not hope to escape; at the mercy of a powerful and cunning enemy, who knew his secret, and would use every effort to get his money. If he refrained for the present from exerting violence, it was only too probable that this forbearance was but temporary, and that at the last the prisoner must yield.

These were gloomy thoughts, and the good Russell was well-nigh overwhelmed.

But the greatest calamities are often alleviated by comparative trifles; and so it was a trifle which, on this occasion, served to soothe the sorrows of our suffering friend--such a trifle, in fact, as a mere costume. Whether it was that, being a tailor, he was more affected than others by his raiment; or whether it was that a man's dress has, as is claimed, a potent influence which always affects the wearer, need not be discussed; certain it is that just now it was his novel attire which chiefly engaged the thoughts of Russell, and made him less sensible of his misfortunes.

As a dress it was certainly magnificent. The cloth was of the finest quality. Gold was lavished freely upon it--gleaming in the numerous b.u.t.tons; s.h.i.+ning in the profuse lace which glittered over the breast and round the cuffs and round the collar in a flood of glory; sparkling in the hatband; flowing down the skirts like the oil from Aaron's beard. Many a time had his own fancy designed and his own hands fas.h.i.+oned such an array as this for others; but now, as it infolded his own ample person, it shone with new l.u.s.tre, and threw something of its own l.u.s.tre around the wearer.

And now, as the actor, when arrayed in the robes of majesty, a.s.sumes a kingly port and struts about the stage, so our Russell. He took to himself the part which the uniform suggested. He felt like the general of an army. He threw out his chest, stood erect, strutted, admired his figure and his gait, waved in his hand an imaginary sword, and guided invisible armies to the field of battle.

In the midst of all this he was suddenly roused by a slight noise behind him.

Turning hastily, he saw a woman, who had entered bearing some articles of food for his morning's repast. In a moment Russell descended from the lofty heights of imagination to the dull realities of a cold world, and, in plain language, began to feel rather sheepish at being discovered in such a frame of mind. Nay, this very frame of mind, this new sense of personal dignity as general, made his chagrin all the greater.

The woman was attired in a picturesque costume, such as is worn by the lower orders in the North of Spain, with the addition, however, of a bright-colored turban. Her face was decidedly handsome, though rather too sharp in outline and expression, while at the same time decidedly the worse for wear. A pair of fine bold black eyes were fixed upon Russell with an expression of undisguised admiration as she stood looking at him. The moment he turned she looked down, and then, dropping a courtesy, said:

"Breakfast, senor."

Upon this she deposited her tray upon a heavy oak table, and then stood looking at him with the same expression as before. There was something in all this which was flattering to the vanity of Russell; arid he stood regarding the woman with very much complaisance. And as he looked at her, he thought to himself that she was a very pretty woman.

The woman then said, still looking at him:

"Beaut'ful! Oh, lovela!"

She spoke in broken English; and Russell, while flattered by her admiration, was delighted at hearing his own language.

"Do you speak English, my dear?" he said, in a tone of affectionate familiarity, drawing nearer to her.