s, and civilly, but
firmly, put an end to the practice.

Next night he was attacked on his way back to the hotel. A man rushed
out on him from a dark corner, and made a blow at his breast with a
knife. It missed him, although his coat was cut through.

A short encounter followed. McKay was stronger than his assailant,
whom he speedily disarmed; but he was not so active. The fellow
managed to slip through his fingers and run; all that McKay could do
was to send three shots after him, fired quickly from his revolver,
and without good aim.

"Scoundrel! he has got clear away," said McKay, as he put up his
weapon. "Who was it, I wonder? Not one of my own men; and yet I seemed
to know him. If I did not think he was still at Gibraltar, I should
say it was that miscreant Benito. I shall have to get him hanged, or
he will do for me one of these days."

The pistol-shots attracted no particular attention in this deserted,
dead-alive Spanish town, and McKay got back to his hotel without
challenge or inquiry.

A day or two later, as the organisation of his mule-train was now
complete, and transports were already arriving to embark their
four-footed freight, he returned to Gibraltar, meaning to go on to the
Crimea without delay.

Of course he went to Bombardier Lane, where he was received by the old
people like a favourite son.

Mariquita, blushing and diffident, was scarcely able to realise that
her Stanislas was now at liberty to make love to her, openly and
without question.

The time, however, for their tender intercourse was all too short.
McKay expected hourly the steamer that was to take him eastward, and
his heart ached at the prospect of parting. As for Mariquita, she had
alternated between blithe joyousness and plaintive, despairing sorrow.

"I shall never see you again, Stanislas," she went on repeating, when
the last mood was on her.

"Nonsense! I have come out harmless so far; I shall do so to the end.
The Russians can't hurt me."

"But you have other enemies, dearest--pitiless, vindictive, and
implacable."

"Whom do you mean? Benito?"

"You know without my telling you. He has shown his enmity, then? How?
Oh, Stanislas! be on your guard against that black-hearted man."

Should he tell her of his suspicions that it was Benito who had
attacked him at Alicante? No; it would only aggravate her fears. But
he tried, nevertheless, to verify these suspicions without letting
Mariquita know the secret.

"Is B