en
sullenly withdrew into his tent for the night to drink _aguardiente_ by
himself, in gloomy converse with a heart into whose dark secrets at no
time could any man enter. It is, indeed, the most charitable
supposition that at this period of his life Ramon Cabrera's love for a
mother most cruelly murdered had rendered him temporarily insane.

Deprived of La Giralda, and judging that Rollo was in no mood to be
spoken with, Concha Cabezos took refuge in the society of El Sarria.
That stalwart man of few words, though in the days of her
light-heartedness quite careless of her wiles, and, indeed, unconscious
of them, was in his way strongly attached to her. He loved the girl for
the sake of her devotion to Dolores, as well as because of the secret
preference which all grave and silent men have for the winsome and gay.

"This Butcher of Tortosa," she said in a low voice to Ramon Garcia,
"will surely never do the thing he threatens. Not even a devil out of
hell could slay in cold blood not the Queen-Regent only, but also the
innocent little maid who never did any man a wrong."

El Sarria looked keenly about him for possible listeners. Concha and he
sat at some distance above the camp, and El Sarria was idly employed in
breaking off pieces of shaly rock and trying to hit a certain pinnacle
of white quartz which made a prominent target a few yards beneath them.

"I think he will," said Ramon Garcia, slowly. "Cabrera is a sullen dog
at all times, and the very devil in his cups. Besides, who am I to blame
him--is there not the matter of his mother? Had it been Dolores--well.
For her sake I would have shot half a dozen royal families."

"The thing will break our Rollo's heart if it cannot be prevented,"
sighed Concha, "for he hath taken it in his head that the Queen and her
husband trusted themselves to his word of honour."

Ramon Garcia shook his head sadly.

"Ah, 'tis his sacred thing, that honour of his--his image of the Virgin
which he carries about with him," he said. "And, indeed, El Sarria has
little cause to complain, for had it not been for that same honour of
Don Rollo's, Dolores Garcia might at this moment have been in the hands
of Luis Fernandez!"

"Aye, or dead, more like," said Concha; "she would never have lived in
the clutches of the evil-hearted! I know her better. But, Don Ramon,
what can we, who owe him so much, do for our Don Rollo?"

"Why--what is there to do?" said Ramon, with a lift of his eyebrows.