partero, courteously. "I
remember him well at Salamanca. He fought by my side like a brother!"

Now since Concha was well aware that her father had not even been
present at that crowning mercy, she smiled, and was comforted to know
that even the great General Baldomero Espartero was an Andalucian--and a
humbug.

For which the Commander-in-Chief had the less excuse, since _he_ could
not urge that it was done "for Rollo's sake!"

Concha knew better than to blurt out her news concerning the presence of
the Queen and her daughter so near the camp. That wise little woman had
her terms to make, and for so much was prepared to give so much.

Therefore from the first word she kept Rollo in the foreground of her
narrative. He it was who, single-handed, had saved the little Queen. He
it was who had defended La Granja against the gipsies. It was, indeed,
somewhat unfortunate that the Queen-Regent should have conceived a
certain prejudice against him, but then (here Concha smiled) the General
knew well what these great ladies were--on mountain-heights one day, in
deep sea-abysses the next. Rollo had compelled the party to leave the
infected district of La Granja for the healthy one of the Sierra de
Moncayo. What else, indeed, could he do? The road to Madrid was in the
hands of roving _partidas_ of the malignant, as his Excellency knew, and
it was only in this direction that there was any chance of safety. That
was Master Rollo's whole offence.

Most unfortunately, however, when on the very threshold of safety, his
party had been ambushed and taken by Cabrera. But the captor's force was
a small one, and with boldness and caution the whole band of the
malignants, together with their prisoners, might be secured. The Carlist
General had threatened to murder the two Queens and the Duke of
Rianzares at sunrise, as was his butcherly wont. And if Espartero would
deliver the royal party, not only was his own future assured, but the
fortunes of all who had taken any part in the affair.

The General listened carefully, looking all the while, not at Concha,
but down at the little folding table of iron which held a map of
Northern Spain. He continued to draw figures of eight upon it with his
forefinger till Concha's eyes wearied of watching him, as she nervously
waited his decision.

"How came you here?" he asked at last.

"I borrowed a mare and a Carlist _boina_, and rode hither as fast as
horseflesh could carry me. I heard from a fri