Whither Thou Goest, Page 2

never fear. Wherever he is, he cannot escape us. He will die,and his death will be a mystery to the English police--as so many deathshave been."

  At that moment the pair found themselves passing the great old Gothicdoor of Santa Gadea, which the sacristan had thrown open to the air foran hour to clear the atmosphere of incense before closing for the night.In the deep, cavernous silence the eternal red lamp showed before thefigure of the Virgin crowned, while far beyond were the long candlesburning before the altar, with its many steps.

  The sight of those candles impelled the pious and enthusiastic Carlos tosuggest that they should enter the church, and there pray for thesuccess of their plans.

  The Deputy-Governor of Navarre in the shabby straw hat smiled, and atonce agreed.

  In all Latin countries the lower class have a habit of kneeling beforetheir favourite altar and craving blessings of the most paltrycharacter. In Italy, the _contadini_ ask that the winning numbers ofthe _lotto_ or Government lottery may be revealed to them, or beg thattheir attempt at theft may be successful. In Spain they implore divinegrace for a big catch of fish, or a fat harvest, so that they may enrichthemselves.

  Cupidity is, alas, the mainspring of most of the prayers of SouthernEurope.

  Garcia Zorrilta, political adventurer and wire-puller, who by reason ofhis cunning and unscrupulousness had risen from clerk in a flour-mill inToledo to be Deputy-Governor of the Province of Navarre, knew how piouswas his friend the young fisherman, and, mock piety being part of hisprofession, he was compelled to enter that great dark, over-ornamentedchurch, and there kneel with his companion before the altar.

  What Zorrilta, one of the lieutenants of the great Contraras, prayed forone does not know, but the prayer of Carlos the fisherman was for thespeedy death of the one man he most greatly feared, the man to whom hehad referred as "the Englishman."

  But as he rose from his knees, he whispered under his breath:

  "_Cuando no puede uno vestirse la piel del leon, vestase de lavulpeja_--when you cannot clothe yourself in the lion's skin, put onthat of the fox."

  CHAPTER ONE.

  The evening shadows were falling softly as the Earl of Saxham steppedinto one of the small drawing-rooms of that palatial residence,Ticehurst Park, in the county of Sussex.

  Ticehurst Park was a magnificent domain, deeply mortgaged. Out of itsfair revenues, there were two or three heavily-pensioned dowagers whohad to be provided for, there were a heap of relations who had to drawtheir small annual stipends.

  On paper, the Earl of Saxham was a very wealthy nobleman. When he haddeducted the interest on mortgages, and the yearly stipends and marriagesettlements, he was quite poor. Out of every sovereign he received, heretained about ten shillings.

  A less even-tempered man would have cursed his bad luck, that he shouldhave been saddled with three dowagers, and a host of other cormorants.

  Archibald, tenth Earl of Saxham, was a delightful optimist. He had comeinto the title by a series of fortunate accidents, and he was disposedto think that, on the whole, Providence had arranged things veryagreeably. Before he took up the mantle of his fathers he had beentrying to make both ends meet on a small private fortune of sevenhundred a year, with but indifferent success. He had now, those irksomedeductions apart, several thousands a year--in fact, a still veryconsiderable income.

  He fitted into the position as easily as a glove. His wife, a woman ofnoble birth like himself, assisted him ably. They speedily became themost popular couple in Sussex, a county which boasts of many noblefamilies.

  He came into his inheritance at the age of thirty. Ten years after hisbeautiful and beloved wife died, leaving him with three children, EricViscount Ticehurst, Guy Rossett, and Mary Rossett. He was so devoted tothe memory of his wife that he did not marry again.

  Mary Rossett, the youngest of the three, was sitting in the smalldrawing-room when he entered this particular evening.

  She was a handsome young woman of about twenty-five years, tall andslender. Her demeanour was a little staid, suggesting a woman some fiveyears her senior.

  Truth to tell, Mary Rossett had experienced a bitter romance when shewas at the age of twenty. Her heart was buried in the grave of a youngofficer of the Guards, who had died suddenly a few days before the dateof their wedding.

  From that fatal day, she had said good-bye to love, in a measure toyouth. No other man would ever charm back the lovelight into the eyesof Mary Rossett.

  But fate, which had stricken her so sorely, did not deprive her of hersweet and womanly qualities. She was the beloved companion of herbrothers, the idol of her widowed father; and she was adored by all thevillagers on the estate, to many of whom she was often a ministeringangel.

  The Earl of Saxham, as he entered the small drawing-room, was smiling ina peculiar manner. His daughter recognised that peculiar smile. Herfather was very pleased with himself over something. But she knew whatthat something was.

  "So Guy has come," he cried cheerfully. "Well, Mary, don't you give itaway when he tells us the good news, or it will spoil it all."

  Lady Mary rose, and laid an affectionate hand on his arm.

  "No need to caution me, dearest. You know I never give myself away.Keep a guard on yourself. Don't smile too much, or look at me toomeaningly when he is telling us, or he'll spot it. You know, you are alittle indiscreet at times."

  The Earl smiled genially.

  "I know, I know, Mary. There is no fool like an old fool, they say.But this is really a great thing. I wrung it out of old Greatorex.And, once in Spain, we shall get him out of the reach of that youngminx, Isobel Clandon."

  Mary's brows contracted into a slight frown: Love had left her stranded,but she was still very sympathetic to young lovers.

  "Why are you so hard on poor Isobel, father?" she asked in her clear,kind voice. "I know she is poor, but she is a lady and well-born."

  Her voice faltered a little, as she added, "Hugh was poor, when you gaveyour consent that I should marry him. Why do you make this distinctionwith Guy?"

  The Earl looked a little embarrassed.

  "My dear Mary, you are a sensible girl, and you must see that thecircumstances are totally dissimilar. Hugh was the younger son of ahouse as noble as our own. True he was poor, but I could have helpedyou."

  "And if you were ready to help me, you can help Guy and Isobel," flashedLady Mary quickly.

  The Earl spoke a little irritably.

  "It is very strange you can't see it. Isobel Clandon is, I admit, quitea lady in the technical sense of the term. But Guy must look beyondthat. He must marry in his own rank. Failing that, he must marry awoman with money."

  Lady Mary spoke with an equal irritation.

  "You are unjust, father, unjust both to Guy and Isobel. You have noright to ruin these two young lives with your prejudices and yourold-world notions." Her voice dropped into a half-sob as she concluded."What is there in the world better than real love? And these two loveeach other devotedly."

  The Earl was about to reply angrily, for he was a somewhat obstinate oldman, and hated being thwarted. But, before he could utter a word, thedoor opened to admit Guy Rossett.

  Guy was a very handsome young fellow, with a winning and genialexpression. He advanced and shook his father's hand warmly, and kissedhis sister with equal affection.

  The Earl beamed upon him. Guy was his favourite of the two sons.Ticehurst was a languid young man about town, who did not appeal greatlyto his more robust father.

  "Well, Guy, my dear boy, delighted to see you. Have you brought us anynews?"

  Mary shot a warning glance at her father. Lord Saxham was alwayspreaching reticence to other people, but he never observed it himself.If Guy had been just a little more subtle than he was, he would havesmelt a rat at once.

  Guy spoke in his frank, almost boyish voice.

  "Splendid news, sir, but so good that I want to keep it to myself for alittle bit. Shall we say till after dinner, when the servants havegone,
and we are quite by ourselves."

  "By all means." It was Mary's sweet, gentle voice that answered. "I amsure I should like to keep very good news to myself for a time; hug itas it were. After dinner, Guy!"

  Later on, they went into the dining-room. The meal was a somewhattedious and long repast. Lord Saxham, who was a bit of a gourmet, likedto take a small portion of several dishes. Guy was a heartytrencherman.

  Poor Lady Mary, whose thoughts inclined towards a convent, would havebeen satisfied with a cup of tea and a slice of bread and butter, butshe had to preside over these prolonged meals.

  When the ponderous banquet--no lesser word could describe it--had drawnto a close, the footman withdrew. It was a family party, the two mensat round the table and smoked. Lady Mary waited to hear the greatnews. And then Guy unburthened himself.

  "The biggest stroke of luck in the world, sir. After fooling about inthe Foreign Office for all these years, Greatorex