eman to make
the best of his time, for if he comes across his old comrades and their
General, he will get singularly short shrift!"

"You are at liberty to contradict the story," said Rollo, serenely,
passing, as his nature was, instantly from anger to indifference.
"Listen--the Senorita Concha may have left the camp. Your Vitorian
friend may have left the camp. Only, these two did not go together--note
that well. If any man affirm otherwise, let him come to me. I will
convince him of his error!"

And having spoken these words, Master Rollo dismissed the matter from
his mind and marched off towards his companions' camp-fire, revolving
his new alternative plan for the saving of the royal party.

The bivouac of the little group of friends and allies was close beside
the white house where were bestowed the Queen, her husband, and her
little daughter. But sentinels paced vigilantly to and fro before it,
and besides the soldiers in the courtyard, there was a Carlist post upon
a rocky eminence equipped with a field-gun, which commanded the whole
position. So that for the present at least there was no hope of doing
anything to deliver the prisoners.

Rollo called his council together cautiously. They could talk without
suspicion during supper, which in old friendly Spanish (and Scottish)
fashion was served up in the pot in which it had been cooked. Thus they
clustered round and discussed both plans and pottage as they dipped
their spoons into the steaming _olla_.

One of the leader's most serious difficulties had been to decide whether
or not he could afford to trust the Sergeant; a little thought, however,
soon assured Rollo that he could not do without Jose Maria, so that
there remained no choice. The Sergeant had openly attached himself to
their party. They could discuss nothing and undertake nothing without
exciting his suspicion. Certainly he had been in Cabrera's command. He
had joined them thence, but--Concha vouched for him, and La Giralda
swore by him. He was a gipsy, and therefore his own interests were his
only politics.

So to the company about the steaming _olla_-pot on the hillside, as the
twilight deepened, Rollo related the story of his interview with
Cabrera. There was no hope in that quarter. So much was certain. If the
Queen-Regent and her little daughter could not be delivered before the
morning, they would assuredly be murdered.

"You have a plan, I can see that," said the Sergeant, shrewdly,
poli