over the torture chamber--once called the Place of the Holy
Office--these any man may see who chooses to journey thither on
mule-back, jolting _tartana_, or by the plain-song office of
heel-and-toe.

As to the brethren, they had had, thanks to Rollo Blair, due and
sufficient warning. They mounted their white mules and rode over the
mountains into France, by a secret way long settled upon and laid with
friendly relays of food and equipage.

Only the Father-Confessor, the gloomy and fanatic Anselmo, was found
dead in his bed, whether from the excitement of reviving his ancient
functions of Inquisitor-in-Chief, or from poison self-administered was
never rightly known or indeed inquired into. Men had other things to
think of in those days.

His body was hastily huddled into a grave in the cloister, where,
equally with those of mitred priors and nobles of twenty descents, you
may see the wild roses clambering about it in the spring.

On the day which followed the great spoliation, a man limped painfully
and slowly along the ravine beneath the still smouldering turrets and
gables of Montblanch. From the despoiled Abbey a thin blue reek
disengaged itself lazily into the air far above him. The man was
following a path which passed along the side of the deep cleft. His
method of advance was at once skulking and arrogant.

Thirty yards or so beneath him he saw a congregation of vultures, the
national and authorised scavengers of Spain. So thickly did these unholy
fowls cluster that the man, being evidently curious, was compelled to
throw several stones among them, before he could induce them to move
that he might catch a glimpse of their quarry.

Then having made his observation, he said, "Ah, brother Luis, you that
were so clever and despised poor Tomas, giving him ever the rough word
and the bitter jest, hath not that same poor Tomas somewhat the best of
it now? He at least shall not be meat for vultures yet awhile. No, he
will drink many good draughts yet--that is, when he hath sold the
freehold of the mill and disposed of any outlying properties that are
left. Luis liked red wine, I liked white--and _aguardiente_. Ha, ha,
Luis will never again taste the flavour of the _Val-de-penas_ he was so
fond of, and so the more will be left for Tomas!"

He stood and meditated awhile. Then he struck his pockets lugubriously.
"I wish I had a cup of good _aguardiente_ now," he muttered. Anon his
face brightened, as he looked at th