of the gipsy, and to the check given to the running of the
cord by the chimney round which it was turned, he was enabled without
difficulty to accomplish and regulate. In a brief space of time a
sensible diminution of the strain warned him that the gitano had found
some additional means of support. For the space of about three minutes
Paco sat still, holding the rope firmly, but giving out no more of it;
then pulling towards him, he found it come to his hand without
opposition. He drew it all in, again twisted it about his body, and
lying down upon his belly, put his head over the edge of the tiles to
see what was passing beneath. All was quiet; no light was visible from
the window of Herrera's room, which was at about a dozen feet below him.
The mist and thick darkness prevented any view of the sentry; but he
could hear the sound of his footsteps, and the burden of the royalist
ditty which he was churming between his teeth.

Whilst all this took place, Luis Herrera, unsuspicious of the efforts
that were making for his rescue, sat alone in his room, which was dimly
lighted by an ill-trimmed lamp. Twelve hours had elapsed since he had
been informed of the fate that awaited him; in twelve more his race
would be run, and he should bid adieu to life, with its hopes and cares,
its many deceptions and scanty joys. A priest, who had come to give him
spiritual consolation in his last hours, had left him at sundown,
promising to return the next morning; and since his departure Herrera
had remained sitting in one place, nearly in one posture, thoughtful and
pre-occupied, but neither grieving at nor flinching from the death which
was to snatch him from a world whereof he had short but sad experience.
Alone, and almost friendless, his affections blighted and hopes ruined,
and his country in a state of civil war--all concurred to make Herrera
regard his approaching death with indifference. Life, which, by a
strange contradiction, seems prized the more as its value diminishes,
and clung to with far greater eagerness by the old than the young had
for him few attractions remaining. Once, and only once, a shade of
sadness crept over his features, and he gave utterance to a deep sigh,
almost a sob, of regret, as he drew from his breast a small locket
containing a tress of golden hair. It was a gift of Rita's in their
happy days, before they knew sorrow or foresaw the possibility of a
separation; and from this token, even when Herrera vol