ir croaking. Panting, Rollo lay still under the
branches, crushing out the perfume of the scrubby, scented geranium,
which in the watered wildernesses of La Granja takes root everywhere.

But among the leaves nothing moved hand or foot against him. Nor gipsy
nor mountaineer stirred in the thicket. So that when Rollo, after
resting a little, explored quietly and patiently the little plantation,
going upon all fours, not a twig of pine crackling under his palms, no
hostile knife sheathed itself between his ribs.

For, as was now clear, the gipsies had not concealed themselves among
the bushes. They had all night before them in which to carry out their
projects. Doubtless (thought the young man) they had gone to possess
themselves of the town. After that the palace would lie at their mercy,
a nut to be cracked at their will.

From the first Rollo was resolved to find the little pavilion of which
La Giralda had spoken. It was in his mind that the girl might, if free
and unharmed, as he hoped, make her way thither. He had indeed only the
most vague and general idea of its locality. The old gipsy had told him
that it was near to the northern margin of the gardens, and that by
following the mountain stream which supplied the great waterfall he
could not fail to come upon it.

But ere he had ventured forth from his hiding-place, he heard again the
swallow's twitter, louder than before, and evidently meant for his ear.
Could it be a natural echo or his own disordered fancy which caused a
whistle exactly similar to reach him from the exact locality he meant to
search?

Rollo moved to that extremity of the thicket from whence the more
regular gardens were visible. He concealed himself behind a pomegranate
tree, and, while he stood and listened, mellow and clear the call came
again from the vicinity of the waterfall.

But Rollo was not of those who turn back. Good-byes are difficult things
to say twice within the same half-hour. No, he had burnt his boats and
would rather go forward into the camp of a thousand gipsies than climb
up the vine-stem and face the Sergeant and Concha with his task undone.
Shame of this kind has often more to do with acts of desperate courage
than certain other qualities more besung by poets.

It was obvious, therefore, that the gipsies were still within the
enclosure of the palace, so Rollo gave up the idea of keeping straight
up the little artificial rivulet, whose falls gleamed wanly before him,