on her way to warn
Elio of the disgrace to the cause intended by Cabrera. In that case, we
may, if we can hold out so long, hope to be rescued by an expeditionary
party. Moreover, Elio will come himself, knowing full well that nothing
but his presence as representative of Don Carlos will have power to move
Cabrera from his purpose--that, or the menace of a superior force."

"And who is to go with the Queen?" asked the Sergeant, for the third
time.

Rollo waited a moment, his glance slowly travelling round the group
about the little camp-fire.

"Let us see first who cannot go--that is the logical method," he
answered, weighing his words with unaccustomed gravity. "For myself
obviously I cannot. The post of danger is here, and I alone am
responsible. Don Juan there and the Count are also barred. Etienne does
not know the way, nor Mortimer the language. La Giralda is an old woman
and weak. Sergeant Cardono and El Sarria--you two alone remain. What say
you? It lies between you."

"Go or stay--it is the same to me," said the Sergeant. "Only let me
know."

"I say the same!" echoed El Sarria.

"Then we will settle it this way," said the young man. "Sergeant, whom
have you in the world depending solely on you for love or daily bread?"

A gleam, like lightning seaming a black cloud irregularly, for a moment
transfigured the face of the ex-brigand of Ronda.

"Thank God," he said, "there is now no one!"

"Then," said Rollo, with a mightily relieved brow, "it is yours to go,
El Sarria! For not one alone, but two, await you--two who depend upon
you for very life."

Ramon Garcia did not reply, but an expression, grim and sardonic,
overspread the features of the Sergeant.

"For other reasons also it is perhaps as well," he said; "for had I been
chosen, an accident might have happened to a grandee of Spain!"

CHAPTER XLVI

THE SERGENT'S LAST SALUTE

It was almost time for starting. The two sentries lay on their faces,
trussed and helpless, with gags in their mouths. El Sarria and Rollo had
dropped down upon them as if from the clouds a few minutes after the
officer had made his two-hourly visitation. The Sergeant was ready with
the horses in the hollow, keeping them quiet with cunning gipsy caresses
and making soft whistling _chalan_ noises in their ears.

So far all had gone well, and Rollo, standing with his knife in
suggestive proximity to the tied-up sentries, silently congratulated
himself. The dawn was