olation of a nunnery, no less." And he
brought his massive fist down with a crash upon the document that had
conveyed the information. "With a detachment of dragoons he broke into
the convent of the Dominican nuns at Tavora one night a week ago.
The alarm bell was sounded, and the village turned out to avenge the
outrage. Consequences: three troopers killed, five peasants sabred to
death and seven other casualties, Dick himself missing and reported to
have escaped from the convent, but understood to remain in hiding--so
that he adds desertion to the other crime, as if that in itself were not
enough to hang him. That's all, as you say, and I hope you consider it
enough even for Dick Butler--bad luck to him."

"My God!" said Captain Tremayne.

"I'm glad that you agree with me."

Captain Tremayne stared at his chief, the utmost dismay upon his fine
young face. "But surely, sir, surely--I mean, sir, if this report is
correct some explanation--" He broke down, utterly at fault.

"To be sure, there's an explanation. You may always depend upon a most
elegant explanation for anything that Dick Butler does. His life is made
up of mistakes and explanations." He spoke bitterly, "He broke into
the nunnery under a misapprehension, according to the account of the
sergeant who accompanied him," and Sir Terence read out that part of the
report. "But how is that to help him, and at such a time as this, with
public feeling as it is, and Wellington in his present temper about it?
The provost's men are beating the country for the blackguard. When they
find him it's a firing party he'll have to face."

Tremayne turned slowly to the window and looked down the fair prospect
of the hillside over a forest of cork oaks alive with fresh green
shoots to the silver sheen of the river a mile away. The storms of the
preceding week had spent their fury--the travail that had attended the
birth of Spring--and the day was as fair as a day of June in England.
Weaned forth by the generous sunshine, the burgeoning of vine and fig,
of olive and cork went on apace, and the skeletons of trees which a
fortnight since had stood gaunt and bare were already fleshed in tender
green.

From the window of this fine conventual house on the heights of
Monsanto, above the suburb of Alcantara, where the Adjutant-General had
taken up his quarters, Captain Tremayne stood a moment considering the
panorama spread to his gaze, from the red-brown roofs of Lisbon on his
l