u dare even face him dead!"

Fernandez rose and motioned his brother to the handle which turned the
great wooden wheel at Rollo's feet. Then the young man lay very still,
listening to the dismal groaning of the ungreased bearings and wondering
almost idly what was about to happen to him.

* * * * *

"God in Heaven, he is here! I tell you I heard him cry! Do you think I
do not know his voice? I will tear up the floor with my fingers, if you
do not make haste!"

It was Concha who spoke or rather shouted these words along the
rabbit-warren of passages which ran this way and that under the Abbey of
Montblanch.

But it had been through Ezquerra and La Giralda that the dread rumour of
danger to Rollo had first come to Sarria. The gipsies have strange ways
of knowledge--mole-runs and rat-holes beneath, birds of the air to carry
the matter above. Some servitor in the Monastery, with a drop of black
blood in him, had heard a word let fall by Don Tomas Fernandez in his
cups. The brothers, so he boasted, would not now have long to wait. The
cherry had dropped into their mouths of its own accord--thus Don Tomas,
half-seas-over, averred--or at least his confessorship would shake the
bough and the fruit would come down with a run. This silly Tomas also
knew who was to have Rollo's horse when all was over--a _tostado_ not
met with every day.

It was enough--more than enough. From Sarria to Espluga in Francoli
Concha raged through the villages like fire through summer grass. The
Abbey--the Friars, the accumulated treasure of centuries, the power of
pit and gallows, of servitude and Holy Office--all these were to end on
the twentieth of the month. Meantime a man was being tortured, done to
death by ghouls--a friend of El Sarria, a friend of Jose Maria--nay, the
saviour of two Queens and the beloved of generals and Prime Ministers!
Would they help to save him? Ah, would they not!

Other rumours came up, thick and rank as toadstools on dead wood. There
was such-an-one of the village of Esplena, such-an-other of Campillo in
the nether Francoli--they refused the Friars this, that, and the other!
Well, did not they enter the Monastery walls, never to be heard of more?

Given the ignorant prejudices of villagers, the hopes of plunder
awakened by a lawless time and an uncertain government, Concha a
prophetess volleying threats and promises--and what wonder is it that in
an hour or two a band of a thousan