er father for the New Year."

"Why did he not let us know that he was coming to Europe?" asked Marcos.

"Ah! That he will tell us hereafter. The mere fact of his being attacked
in the streets of Saragossa and killed for the money that was in his
pockets is, of course, quite simple, and common enough. But why should he
be cared for by a friar, and taken to one of those numerous religious
houses which have sprung into unseen existence all over Spain since the
Jesuits were expelled?"

"Has he left a will?" asked Marcos.

Sarrion turned and looked at him with a short laugh. He threw his
cigarette away, and coming into the room, sat down in front of the small
table where Marcos was still satisfying his honest and simple appetite.

"I have told my story badly," he said, with a curt laugh, "and spoilt it.
You have soon seen through it. Mogente made a will on his
death-bed--which was, by the way, witnessed by Leon de Mogente as a
supernumerary, not a legal witness--just to show that all was square and
above board."

"Then he left his money--?"

"To Juanita. One can only conclude that he was wandering in mind when he
did it. For he was fond of her, I think. He had no reason to wish her
harm. I have picked up what unconsidered trifles of information I can,
but they do not amount to much. I cabled to Cuba for news as to Mogente's
fortune; for we know that he has made one. There is the reply." He handed
Marcos a telegram which bore the words:

"Three million pesetas in the English Funds."

"That is the millstone that he has tied round Juanita's neck," said
Sarrion, folding the paper and returning it to his pocket.

"To saddle with three million pesetas a girl who is at a convent school,
in the hands of the Sisters of the True Faith, when the Carlist cause is
dying for want of funds, and the Jesuits know that it is Don Carlos or a
Republic, and all the world knows that all republics have been fatal to
the Society--bah!" the Count threw out his hands in a gesture of despair.
"It is to throw her into a convent, bound hand and foot. We cannot leave
that poor girl without help, Marcos."

"No," said Marcos, gently.

"There is only one way--I have thought of it night and day. There is only
one way, my friend."

Marcos looked at his father thoughtfully, and waited to hear what that
way might be.

"You must marry her," said the Count.

CHAPTER VIII
THE TRAIL
The Count rose again and went to the window without looki