and Stuart, calling to
the men nearest him to follow, started after him on a run.

As Stuart entered the palace with his men at his heels, Clay was
hurrying from its rear entrance along the upper hall, and Hope and
Madame Alvarez were leaving the apartments of the latter at its front.
They met at the top of the main stairway just as Stuart put his foot on
its lower step. The young Englishman heard the clatter of his men
following close behind him and leaped eagerly forward. Half way to the
top the noise behind him ceased, and turning his head quickly he looked
back over his shoulder and saw that the men had halted at the foot of
the stairs and stood huddled together in disorder looking up at him.
Stuart glanced over their heads and down the hallway to the garden
beyond to see if they were followed, but the mob still fought from the
outer side of the barricade. He waved his sword impatiently and
started forward again. "Come on!" he shouted. But the men below him
did not move. Stuart halted once more and this time turned about and
looked down upon them with surprise and anger. There was not one of
them he could not have called by name. He knew all their little
troubles, their love-affairs, even. They came to him for comfort and
advice, and to beg for money. He had regarded them as his children,
and he was proud of them as soldiers because they were the work of his
hands.

So, instead of a sharp command, he asked, "What is it?" in surprise,
and stared at them wondering. He could not or would not comprehend,
even though he saw that those in the front rank were pushing back and
those behind were urging them forward. The muzzles of their carbines
were directed at every point, and on their faces fear and hate and
cowardice were written in varying likenesses.

"What does this mean?" Stuart demanded, sharply. "What are you waiting
for?"

Clay had just reached the top of the stairs. He saw Madame Alvarez and
Hope coming toward him, and at the sight of Hope he gave an exclamation
of relief.

Then his eyes turned and fell on the tableau below, on Stuart's back,
as he stood confronting the men, and on their scowling upturned faces
and half-lifted carbines. Clay had lived for a longer time among
Spanish-Americans than had the English subaltern, or else he was the
quicker of the two to believe in evil and ingratitude, for he gave a
cry of warning, and motioned the women away.

"Stuart!" he cried. "Come away; for