to the instincts of humanity."

"Forgive me, Talbot," said Brooke, meekly. "I don't mean what you
think. When I spoke of a man's sense of honor, I referred to his life
of action, with all its conflict of duty and honor, and all those
complicated motives of which a woman in her retirement can know
nothing."

"Believe me, Brooke," said Talbot, earnestly, "women who are
lookers-on are often better and safer judges than men who are in the
midst of action. Trust me, and take my advice in this matter. What!
is it possible that you can have the heart to leave these English
ladies to a fate of horror among brigands?"

"You put it strongly, Talbot, but that is only a partial view. In
brief, you ask me to betray to the enemy a place which I may inform
you happens to be one of the cardinal points in the strategy of the
Carlist generals. I do not know for certain that the ladies are
there; and if they are, I do not believe that they will be badly
treated. A ransom will perhaps be exacted, but nothing more. On the
whole, I should far rather fall into the hands of the Carlists than
the Republicans. The Carlists are generous mountaineers, the
peasantry of the North; the Republicans are the communist mobs of the
Southern cities. I have seen very much of both sides, and think the
Carlists better men every way--more chivalrous, more merciful, and
more religious. I am not afraid about those prisoners. I feel
convinced that when the general hears of their capture he will set
them free himself. At any rate, I cannot interfere. To do so would be
a hideous piece of treachery on my part. For me to betray to the
Republicans this great and important Carlist fortress, which has
become known to me by the favor and the confidence of the Carlist
chiefs, would be a thing of horror and dishonor. I would die first,
Talbot. So don't say any more. If anything could make me false to my
honor and duty, it would be your entreaties. I may be wrong, after
all, but I must act by my own sense of right. Would you wish me to
save my life, and always afterward have the thought that I had
stained my honor?"

"No, Brooke," said Talbot; "and since you feel in this way I will say
no more about it."

Silence now followed. Brooke seated himself on the floor with his
back against the wall, and Talbot stood looking at him as he thus
sat.

This man, who led a life which required some of the qualities of the
hero, had nothing particularly heroic in his outward aspe