and often before
he runs a like risk!"

"That also is against me!" said Rollo, smiling; "Concha, you have heard
all the others--what do you say?"

Concha rose and stood beside him. She put her arm gently on his shoulder
so that her hand touched his cheek.

"I understand, if they do not!" she said. "I understand all. You are
right. Go!"

* * * * *

So Rollo set forth, and with him there also journeyed to the north
Etienne--first, because he was tired of Madrid, second, because he was
returning to France, thirdly (and privately), because the village of
Sarria and a certain green garden lattice were to be found on the route
thither; John Mortimer, because if Rollo were bound to see the Prior,
perhaps after all something might be done about the _Priorato_; El
Sarria, because night and morning, noon and midnight, he prayed with his
face towards that Convent of the Holy Innocents where Dolores and her
babe waited for him; La Giralda, because she might as well go northward
as in any other direction; and Concha--but it is superfluous to say why
Concha was going.

Nevertheless Rollo insisted that since he was solely responsible, he
alone should adventure the anger of the Prior, though indeed any or all
of the others would readily have accompanied him to Montblanch.

But the young Scot felt acutely how perversely, and like a cross-grained
jade, Fate had treated him. He knew also that appearances were against
him and in what fashion his actions might have been misrepresented to
the Prior. Being singularly little given to suspicion, Rollo was not
greatly affected by Etienne's estimate of his uncle. Besides, there was
the information concerning the approaching suppression of the convents
to be communicated, in such a form that it might be of use to the Abbot
and brethren of Montblanch, and yet do no injury to those through whom
he had come into possession of the secret.

In due time, therefore, after leaving Madrid the party arrived at the
village of Sarria. For, being possessed of all manner of governmental
passes and recommendations, they travelled rapidly and luxuriously
considering the difficult and troublous times. At Sarria, Rollo, looking
out eagerly northward to where above the horizon the peaks of Montblanch
pushed themselves up blue and soft like a row of ragged and battered
ninepins, paused only to assure himself of the well-doing of Dolores
Garcia and her son under the roof of th