hard cash as earnest of the
price, being the balance of the private venture with which he meant to
purchase the right to return to Chorley and its paternal spindles.

But the preference of the Abbot for the headstrong Scot of Fife was too
manifest to be ignored, and many were the speculations among the
brethren as to what might be the purpose of Don Baltasar in thus
spending so much of his time with a stripling heretic.

That he had such purpose none doubted, nor that the results would in due
time be seen to the honour of the Holy House of Montblanch. For though
the brethren used the dearest privilege of all brotherhoods--that of
grumbling freely at the Superior--none questioned either Don Baltasar's
capacity or his single-mindedness where the Order was concerned.

The Abbot sounded the depths of the young man. He met his Scottish
caution with a frank confession of his purpose.

"I am putting my life and the lives of all these good and holy men in
your hands, Don Rollo," he said. "Any day there may be a Nationalist
army here. Their outposts are watching us even now. A fugitive was
pursued to the very altar of sanctuary the other night! What! You saw
him? Ah, of course, it was the night when our pleasant acquaintanceship
began. Frankly, then, we are all Carlists here, Don Rollo. We stand for
the King, who alone will stand for us."

"Your secret, or any secret, is safe with me," said Rollo grandly,
turning his quick frank eyes upon the Prior. "Not death--no, nor
torture--could drag a word from me against my will."

The Abbot perused him with his eyes thoughtfully for a moment.

"No, I do not think they would," he said slowly, and without his usual
smile.

"Further, I would desire to enlist you as a recruit," he went on, after
a pause. "There are many English fighting in our ranks, but few of your
brave northern nation. Don Rollo, we need such men as you are. We can
give them a career. Indeed, I have at present a mission in hand such as
might make the fortune of any brave man. It is worth a general's
commission if rightly carried through. Not many young men have such a
chance at twenty-two. Ah, rogue, rogue--I heard of your doings the other
night down at the inn of San Vicente, and of how with your sole sword
you held at bay a score of Migueletes and Aragonese gipsies--smart
fellows with their knives all of them!"

"It was nothing," said Rollo modestly; "the cowards did not mean
fighting. It was never in their e