cha stood panting, her
hand pressed on her breast. Her eyes were wandering every way in search
of Rollo, and in her haste and happiness she had left her weapons behind
in the camp of Espartero.

"At any rate I will make sure of you!" cried the Butcher of Tortosa,
bitterly, and drawing a pistol he covered Concha at point-blank
distance. But from behind his rock (as it were out of the ground) arose
the tall gaunt form and leathern visage of Sergeant Cardono.

With a sweep of the arm he set Concha behind him, and as the General's
pistol went off he received the shot in his own bosom.

The next moment the Castilian horsemen crashed full on the front of
Cabrera's advance and hurled it down the side of the ravine, the General
himself being borne away in the thickest of the surge.

Meantime another part of Espartero's command had bent round to the east
and was by this time taking the Carlists on the flank. In thirty seconds
the ridge of the _barranco_, which the six had defended so well, was
deserted; even slow-going John Mortimer had been swept into the tide of
pursuit.

But the Sergeant lay still, with the breast of his jacket opened, and
his head on Concha's shoulder. She dropped warm tears over his face.
Rollo, too, was there, and held the dying man's hand. He beckoned La
Giralda to him and whispered a word in Romany. She nodded, and presently
returned with the same great bulk of a man, brown as a Moor of Barbary,
whom Rollo had encountered on the night of the plunder of San Ildefonso.

"Ezquerra," the Sergeant whispered, "I am spent. There is a spike in the
neck-band this time. All that is honestly come by, I want you to give to
this young lady. You will find it by itself under the hearthstone in my
house at Ronda. The rest you will take no objections to, I know, on the
ground of morals. Keep it for yourself!"

Concha glanced once up at Rollo and then, receiving his nod of approval,
bent down and kissed the Sergeant.

The Andalucian looked up with that wondrous flavour of gay humour which
distinguishes those born in the joyous province. His saturnine visage
brightened into the sweetest smile. Very feebly he raised his hand to
his brow in a last salute in acknowledgment of Concha's favour. His head
fell back on her breast.

"A thousand grateful thanks, _Senorita_!" he said. And then noting the
executioner he added, "Ah, Ezquerra, this is better than dying on the
Plaza Mayor of Salamanca with the iron collar about