ng and dodging with terror in his
eyes. But he was no match for his pursuer, and before he had gained the
end of the gallery, the giant's hand closed upon the neck of his enemy.

Then Luis Fernandez, knowing his hour, screamed like a rabbit taken in a
snare.

And through the manifold corridors of the Abbey, and up from
underground, rang the dread cry "Torture!" "They have been torturing him
to death in their accursed dungeons! Kill! Kill! Death to the Friars
wherever found!"

For the blind mouths of down-trodden villages, long dumb, had at last
found a universal tongue.

Ramon Garcia looked once only into the face which glared up at him. In
that glance Luis Fernandez read his fate. Without a word of anger or any
sound save his own footsteps, El Sarria walked to the nearest open
arcade of the gallery and threw his enemy over with one hand, with the
contemptuous gesture of a man who flings carrion to the dogs.

Luis Fernandez fell six hundred feet clear and scarce knew that he had
been hurt.

"God grant us all as merciful a death!" cried Concha; "little did he
deserve it!"

They untied Rollo from the trestle work of the rack which the miller of
Sarria had used to gratify his revenge. At first he could not stand on
his feet. His hands trembled like aspen leaves, and he had perforce to
sit down and lean his head against Concha's shoulder.

"Nay, do not weep, little one," he said, "I am not hurt. You came in
time! But" (here he smiled) "another turn of that wheel and I would have
told them all!"

Meanwhile the hammers were clanging multitudinous. At the sight of
Rollo's pale drawn face the populace went wild. Their mad clamour rose
to heaven. All that night the great Abbey of Montblanch, with its
garniture of stall and chapel, carven reredos and painted picture, went
blazing up to the skies.

At such times men knew no half measures, drew no fine distinctions. For,
especially in Spain, revolutions are never yet effected with a spray of
rose-water. The great Order of our Lady of Montblanch which had endured
a thousand years, perished in one day because of the vengeance of Luis
Fernandez and the madness of the priest Anselmo.

Meanwhile, in the sacristy of a little chapel by the gate, safe from the
spoilers' hand, but lit irregularly by the bursting flames, and to which
the wild cries of the iconoclasts penetrated, Concha sat nursing Rollo.

From time to time he would doze off, awaking with a start to find his
h