ds
went with him, and after traversing the court-yard they came to the
keep. Here the Carlist chief was seen lolling on a stone bench
outside, and smoking a villanous cigar. As the priest approached, he
started to his feet with no little surprise on his face, together
with a dark and menacing frown, which did not by any means augur well
for the bold adventurer.

"Who are you?" he asked, fiercely.

The priest in return eyed the Carlist from head to foot, and then
said, in a sharp, authoritative tone,

"Your name and rank?"

At this singular rejoinder to his question the Carlist chief looked
somewhat amazed.

"My name?" said he, with a sneer. "Never mind what it is. What are
you? Who are you? What the devil do you mean by coming here?"

"Give your name and rank," persisted the priest, in the same tone as
before, "and beware how you trifle with one who may be your master.
Who gave you authority to occupy this post?"

"Master?--authority?" cried the Carlist chief, with an oath, which
was followed by a laugh. "Who is my master? I never saw him. Here,
you fellows!" he cried, to some of his gang who stood near, "take
this fellow off--take him inside. Let me see--take him to the lower
dungeons, and let him see who is master here!"

At this a score of stout ruffians came forward to obey the order. But
the priest remained as cool as before. He simply drew forth a paper,
and looking round upon the ruffians, he said, in a quiet voice,

"Keep back, you fellows, and take care what you do! I'm the Cure of
Santa Cruz."

At that formidable name the whole band stopped short, mute and
awe-struck; for it was no common name which he had thus announced. It
was a name which already had been trumpeted over the world, and in
Spain had gained a baleful renown--a name which belonged to one who
was known as the right arm of Don Carlos, one who was known as the
beau ideal of the Spanish character, surpassing all others in
splendid audacity and merciless cruelty; lavish generosity and
bitterest hate; magnificent daring and narrowest fanaticism. At once
chivalrous and cruel, pious and pitiless, brave and bigoted, meek and
merciless, the Cure of Santa Cruz had embodied in himself all that
was brightest and darkest in the Spanish character, and his name had
become a word to conjure by--a word of power like that of Garibaldi
in Italy, Schamyl in Circassia, or Stonewall Jackson in America. And
thus when these ruffians heard that name it wo