aid Talbot in surprise. "Why
can't you take them to that castle? You were there, and when there
you say you recognized the Carlist chief himself, the very man who
stopped the train. He must have the English prisoners there. Do you
men to say that you will not help those poor captives?"

"I cannot," said Brooke.

"Cannot?"

"Look here, Talbot! I've thought it over and over, and I cannot.
Honor forbids. Let me explain. You see, while wandering about here, I
have frequently fallen into the hands of either party, and have often
been in great danger as now, yet I have always escaped. More than
this, I have papers from the leading men of both sides, which testify
to my character. I am therefore in honor bound never, under any
circumstances, to betray one party to the other, and that, too, no
matter what my own feelings may be. I came here as a neutral, a
stranger, a correspondent, to get information for the distant
American public. That is my business here. But the moment I begin to
betray one of these parties to the other in any shape or way, the
moment I communicate to others the information which I may have
gained in confidence, that moment I become an infernal scoundrel."

"True, Brooke, very true!" said Talbot; "but don't you see how
different this thing is? Here is a party of travellers captured by
brigands, and held to ransom. You are merely asked to show the way to
their prison, so that they may be set free by their friends. What
betrayal of confidence is there in this?"

"I say that in any way in which I tell one of these parties about the
doings of the other, I betray the confidence which has been placed in
me."

"And I say, Brooke, that if you leave these English ladies in the
hands of merciless villains to languish in captivity, to suffer
torment, and perhaps to die a cruel death, you will be guilty of an
unpardonable sin--an offence so foul that it will haunt your last
hours!"

"No woman," said Brooke, "can understand a man's sense of honor."

"Sir," said Talbot, with indescribable haughtiness, "you forget my
name. Trust me, sir, no Talbot ever lived who failed one jot or
tittle in the extremest demand of honor. I, sir, am a Talbot, and
have no need to go to you for information on points of honor. More
than this, I say that you are utterly wrong; and that if you leave
those English ladies in the hands of these Spanish miscreants you
will do foul offence, not only to the honor of a gentleman, but even