r
company and that of your daughter we must have upon our journey. It is
our intention to place you and her in a place of safety----"

"To steal us--to kidnap us, you mean!" cried the Queen, with the utmost
indignation.

"Your Majesty," continued Rollo, "I am not disputing about words. Our
actions of last night will best explain our intentions of this morning.
But with respect to this gentleman"--he turned to Senor Munoz as he
spoke--"I have no directions either to permit or compel him to accompany
us. Yet since we must act with the greatest speed and secrecy, it is
clearly impossible to leave him behind. I am compelled, therefore, to
put an alternative before you, which, having had an opportunity to
remark the Senor's courage, I am pained to declare. If your Majesty will
consent to accompany us at once and without parley, Don Fernando may do
so also. But if not, since we have not force sufficient to deal with
additional prisoners on such a journey, it will be my unhappy duty to
order the gentleman's instant execution."

A shriek from the Queen punctuated the close of this speech--one of the
longest that Rollo had ever made. But the Queen, hardly yet believing
in the reality of their threats, still held out. As for Munoz, he said
no word until Rollo abruptly ordered him to kneel and prepare for death.

"In that case," said the ex-guardsman, "permit me to put on a decent
coat. A man ought not to die in a dressing-gown. It is not soldierly!"

Rollo bade the valet bring his master what he wanted, and presently the
Duke of Rianzares, in his best uniform coat, found himself in a position
to die with credit and self-respect.

But so unexpected was the nerve and resolution of the Queen that it was
only when the Duke had been bidden kneel down between the halves of a
French window which opened out upon a balcony that Cristina, flinging
dignity finally to the winds, fell upon his neck and cried to her
captors, "Take me where you wish. Do with me what you will. Only
preserve to me my beloved Fernando."

Rollo turned away with a sudden easing of his heart and no little
admiration. He was glad that the strain was over, and besides, he would
rather have led the forlornest of hopes than have played twice upon a
woman's fears for her lover. But at his back he heard the Sergeant
whisper across to El Sarria, who, entirely unmoved, was uncocking his
piece with much deliberation, "'Tis a deal more than she would have done
for her