this little lady," he said, "and see whether she will
not convince you of my good intent!"

It was a moment or two before the man returned with a lantern, and
directed the stream of light downwards.

"The young Queen!" he cried aghast; "what is she doing here at this hour
of the night?"

"Let me in, and I will tell you," cried the lady herself, "quick--do you
hear? I will complain to Father Ignacio, my mother's confessor, if you
do not, and you will be deprived of your office. You will be put on
bread and water, and very like have your head cut off as well!"

In a minute more they heard the noise of the pulling of bolts and bars,
and were presently admitted into the little whitewashed hall of the
Ermita de San Ildefonso. There they found themselves face to face with
four monks in white habits, their faces pale and grave in the
candle-light. They gave Rollo no sign of welcome, but each of them bowed
his head low to the little Queen and then glanced inquiringly at her
protector.

"Let the _burro_ enter also," commanded Rollo. "Thrice I have been
stopped on the way, and if our enemies find the ass without they will be
the readier to believe that I have hidden my treasure with you!"

Then in the little whitewashed refectory, before the simple table on
which the fathers, now sadly reduced in numbers, took their repasts,
Rollo told his story. And, sinking on her knees devoutly before the
great crucifix that hung over the mantelpiece, the little Queen repeated
her childish prayers as placidly as if she had been at her nurse's knees
in the royal palace at Madrid, with the sentries posted duly, and the
tramp of the guard continually passing without.

CHAPTER XXXVI

THE DEATH-CART

Thus came the little Isabel of Spain into sanctuary. That the respite
could only be temporary, Rollo knew too well. The monks were stout and
willing men, but such arms as they had belonged to almost primitive
times, chiefly old blunderbusses of various patterns from the middle of
the sixteenth century to the end of the eighteenth, together with a
halberd or two which had been used from time immemorial in the Hermitage
kitchen for breaking bones to get out the marrow, chopping firewood, and
such like humble and peaceful occupations.

Two of the remaining brothers of the Ermita were as other men, plain,
simple and devout, ready to give up their lives, either by dying of
disease at their post of duty, or by the steel of cruel and ignor