"Madame," interrupted the other, "as a priest it is my duty to succor the distressed, and even as a man I should feel bound to save you."
"It"s too much for you," said the lady, faintly. "Save yourself. It"s no matter--what--becomes of--of me."
"Oh, it isn"t, isn"t it?" said the priest, in his dryest manner.
"Well, you will please remember that you and I are in the same boat, and we must win or lose together. And so, as I don"t intend to be captured yet awhile, why, madame, with your permission, and begging your pardon, I"ll take the liberty of saving you in my own way. At the same time, please remember that it"s not for your sake I"m doing this so much as for my own."
What possible meaning there might be to these last words the priest did not explain, nor did the lady understand. In fact, there was no time for explanation. The priest, without any more ado, raised the lady in his arms and marched off with her.
He was not a very large man, but he was very muscular, and in excellent training; so he trudged on at a pace which, under all the circ.u.mstances, was really wonderful. Fortunately he did not have very far to carry his burden. Before long he came to a grove of large trees, which stood wide apart and admitted of an easy pa.s.sage.
Traversing this, he at length reached a low tower, which was in a half-ruinous condition. It stood upon the brink of a deep chasm, the sides of which were densely wooded, while at the bottom there was a brawling brook. Upon the other side of the chasm appeared the outline of a stately castle, with walls and towers and battlements and keep, all plainly discernible as they rose up in giant proportions.
CHAPTER IX.
IN WHICH THE PRIEST SEES A VISION, AND GOES IN SEARCH OF A BREAKFAST.
The priest placed the lady on the ground near the trunk of a fallen tree, against which she might lean, and then, turning away, he drew a clasp-knife from his pocket, and began cutting armfuls of brushwood and twigs of shrubs. These he canned into the tower and spread over the floor with the skill of a practised hand, while the lady sat where he had left her, with her head bowed down, taking no notice of anything, and seeming like one who was quite prostrated in mind as well as in body. When at last the priest"s task was ended, he went to her and carried her inside the tower.
"Here," said he, "is some brushwood. I"m sorry that there isn"t anything better, but better is a stone couch with liberty than a bed of down with captivity. Don"t be worried or frightened. If there is any danger, I"ll sound the alarm in Zion and get you off in time."
The lady murmured some inarticulate words, and the priest then left her and went outside. He there spent some little time in gathering some brush for himself, which he spread upon the gra.s.s, under the castle wall; after which, he seated himself upon it, and pulling out his pipe, he filled it and began to smoke.
Hitherto he had been too much preoccupied to pay any very close attention to the world around; but now, as he sat there, he became aware of sounds which arose apparently from the interior of the great castle on the other side of the chasm. The sounds did not startle him in the least, however, and he was evidently prepared for something of this sort. Between this tower and the great castle there intervened the deep chasm; and though no doubt the two structures had once been connected, yet all connection had long since been destroyed, and now there was no visible way of pa.s.sing from the one to the other. The priest, therefore, felt as secure as though he were miles away, and listened serenely to the noises.
There came to his ears sounds of singing, and laughter, and revelry, with shouts and cries that rang out upon the air of night. There seemed to be no small stir in the castle, as though a mult.i.tude had gathered there, and had given themselves up securely to general merriment. But all this troubled not the priest one whit, for he calmly finished his pipe, and then, laying it down, he disposed his limbs in a comfortable position, still keeping a sitting posture, and in this att.i.tude he fell asleep and slept the sleep of the just.
Very early on the following morning our good priest opened his eyes, and the first object that they rested upon was the lady, who stood there full before him, and greeted him with a gentle smile.
The priest had not seen her very well on the previous evening, and now as he saw her face in full daylight, it seemed different from that which had met his view under the moonbeams. The lady was of slender form, a trifle over the middle height, and of marked dignity of bearing. Her face was perfectly beautiful in the outline of its features, but this was as nothing when compared with the refined and exquisite grace, the perfect breeding, the quick intelligence, and the womanly tenderness that were all expressed in those n.o.ble lineaments. It was a face full of calm self-possession, and gave indications of a great and gracious nature, which could be at once loving and brave, and tender and true. Her hair, which was very luxuriant, was closely bound up in dark auburn ma.s.ses; her lips were full of sweet sensitiveness; and thus she stood looking at him with dark hazel eyes that seemed to glow with feeling and intelligence, till the good priest thought that never in all his life had he seen anything half so fair. In fact, so overcome was he that he sat staring at her for some time without one word, and without giving any response whatever to the pleasant words of greeting which she spoke.
"I"m very sorry indeed," said she, as the priest still stared in silence at her, "that I was such a trouble to you, after all your--your kindness; but the fact is, I was so wretchedly fatigued that I was scarcely responsible for my actions. It was too selfish in me; but now I mean to make amends, and help you in every possible way. Would you like me to do anything? Sha"n"t I get breakfast?"
She spoke these words with a smile, in which, however, there was not a little sadness. There was nothing in the words themselves beyond that painful consideration for others and forgetfulness of self which the priest had observed in her the night before; but the voice was a wonderful one--a round, full contralto, yet soft and low, with a certain mysteriously tremulous undertone that fell with a thrill upon his ear.
The priest started up.
"Breakfast!" said he, with a short laugh. "That is the very thing I was thinking of myself. I consider that an all-important subject."
"It is certainly a serious matter," said she.
"And you propose to get it for me?"
"Yes," said she, with a faint smile, "if I can."
"I really wish you would," continued the priest, "for it would save me from a great responsibility; for if you don"t get it for me, hang me if I know where I can get any for myself."
"What do you mean?" said she. "Have we nothing to eat?"
"Well, not so bad as that. I have a bit of a sandwich, I believe, and you may have it."
With this he produced from his pocket a tin sandwich case and offered it to her.
She refused.
"If that is the last that you have," said she, "I can wait."
"But you must eat it, so as to get back your strength."
[Ill.u.s.tration: "The Priest Placed The Lady On The Ground Near The Trunk Of A Fallen Tree."]
"And what will you do?"
"Oh, I"m an old hand at fasting. It"s my business."
"As priest, I suppose?" said the lady, with a smile that was brighter, or rather less mournful, than any which the priest had thus far seen on her melancholy face.
"Yes, as priest," said the other, dryly. "And now will you take it?"
"Do you ever think about yourself?" asked the lady, in a low voice, in which the thrill was more perceptible than usual.
"About myself? Oh yes," said he; "I never think of anything else. My motto is to take care of Number One. It"s only for my own sake that I"m anxious for you to eat; but if you won"t take it all, why, you"ll have to be content with half. You won"t refuse to share with me and take half?"
"By no means. I sha"n"t object to take the half, if you choose."
"Well," said he, "that"s fair; so let"s begin our breakfast. Would you mind sitting on that tree over there?"
He led the way to the fallen tree already mentioned, and the two seated themselves. He then opened the tin case and drew forth a few sandwiches. From these they made their frugal repast.
"You must cultivate patience," said the priest, as he ate. "I know exactly what"s in your mind. You want to be off. But, according to the proverb, the more haste the less speed. Tell me--would you rather be here or in the hands of the Carlists?"
"Here."
"Well, I"m afraid if we move incautiously we may be seen and captured by the Carlists. So before we start I propose to reconnoitre. Will you remain here?"
"I will do whatever you direct."
"You are very good and sensible."
"Thanks; but where do you propose to go."
"I"m going to visit the castle over there."