of this brevity, more than one sign of impatience
escaped Luis during the muleteer's narrative. The tale told, he remained
for a minute buried in thought.

"It is three weeks since you left the convent?" he then inquired of
Paco.

"Nearly four," was the answer.

"Do you think Dona Rita is still there?"

"How can I tell?" replied Paco. "You know as much as I do of Don
Baltasar's intentions. He could hardly find a better corner to hide her
in; for it is in the very heart of the mountains, far from any town,
and, well as I know Navarre, I never saw the place till this time. So I
_should_ think it likely she is still there, unless he has taken her to
France, or forced her to marry him."

"Never!" cried Herrera, violently; "he would not dare; she would never
consent. Listen, Paco--could you guide me to that convent?"

"Certainly I could," answered the muleteer, greatly surprised, "as far
as knowing the road goes; but the country swarms with Carlist troops;
and even if we could sneak round Eraso's army, we should be sure to fall
in with some guerilla party."

"But there must be paths over the mountains," exclaimed Herrera, with
the painful eagerness of a man catching at a last faint hope; "paths
unfrequented, almost unknown, except to fellows like you, who have spent
their lives amongst then. Over those you could--you must, conduct me."

"I will try it, Don Luis, willingly," replied Paco, moved by Herrera's
evident agony of mind. "I will try it, if you choose; but I would not
give a _peseta_ for our lives. There are hundreds amongst the Carlists
who know every mountain pass and ravine as well as I do. The chances
will be all against us."

"We could lie concealed in the day," continued Herrera, pursuing the
train of his own thoughts, and scarcely hearing the muleteer's
observations. "A small party of infantry--twenty picked men will be
enough--the convent surprised at nightfall, and before morning, by a
forced march, we reach a Christino garrison. I will try it, by heaven!
at all risks. Paco, wait my return."

And before the muleteer had time to reply, the impetuous young man
snatched his horse's bridle from his hand, sprang into the saddle, and,
spurring the tired beast into a gallop, rode off in the direction of
Artajona.

The motive of Herrera's abrupt departure was to prepare for the
execution of a plan so wild and impracticable, that, in his cooler
moments, it would never have suggested itself to him, altho