the oars out, "has the heart of a rabbit --but yes, of a very young rabbit!" "Madame may rest assured that there is no danger," said Conyngham. "Monsieur is an Englishman?" "Yes; and a very cold one at the moment. If madame could restrain her religious enthusiasm so much as to sit still we should make better progress."

He spoke rather curtly, as if refusing to admit the advisability of manning the boat with a crew of black-letter saints. The manner in which the boat leapt forward under each stroke of the oars testified to the strength of his arms and madame presently subsided into whispers of thankfulness, having reason, it would seem, to be content with mere earthly aid in lieu of that heavenly intervention which ladies of her species summon at every turn of life.

"I wish I could help you," said the younger woman presently, in a voice and manner suggestive of an energy unusual to her countrywomen. She spoke in French, but with an accent somewhat round and full, like an English accent, and Conyngham divined that she was Spanish. He thought also that under their outer wraps the ladies wore the mantilla, and had that graceful carriage of the head which is only seen in the Peninsular.

"Thank you, mademoiselle, but I am making good progress now. Can you see the ship?"

She rose and stood peering into the darkness ahead, a graceful, swaying figure. A faint scent, as of some flower, was wafted on the keen wind to Conyngham, who had already decided, with characteristic haste, that this young person was as beautiful as she was intrepid.

"Yes," she answered; "it is quite clear. They are also showing lights to guide us."

She stood looking apparently over his head toward the Granville, but when she spoke, it would seem that her thoughts had not been fixed on that vessel.

"Is monsieur a sailor?" she asked. "No; but I fortunately have a little

knowledge of such matters-fortunate since I have been able to turn it to the use of these ladies."

"But you are travelling in the Granville."

"Yes, I am travelling in the Granville."

Over his oars Conyngham looked hard at his interlocutrice, but could make out nothing of her features. Her voice interested him, however, and he wondered whether there were ever calms on the coast of Spain at this time of the year.

"Our sailors," said the young lady, "in Spain are brave, but they are very cautious. I think none of them would have done such a thing as you have just done for us. We were in danger. I knew it. Was it not so?"

"The boat might have drifted against some ship at anchor and have upset; you might also have been driven out to sea. They had no boat on board the Granville ready to put out and follow you."

"Yes; and you saved us. But you English are of a great courage. And my mother, instead of thanking you, is offering her gratitude to James and John, the sons of Zebedee; as if they had done it."

"I am no relation to Zebedee," said Conyngham, with a gay laugh; "madame may rest assured of that."

"Julia!" said the elder lady severely, and in a voice that seemed to emanate from a chest as deep and hollow as an octave cask, "I shall tell Father Concha, who will assuredly reprove you. The saints upon whom I called were fishermen, and therefore the more capable of understanding our great danger. As for monsieur, he knows that he will always be in my prayers."

"Thank you, madame," said Conyngham gravely.

"And at a fitter time I hope to tender him my thanks."

At this moment a voice from the Granville hailed the boat, asking whether all were well and Mr. Conyngham on board. Being reassured on this point, the mate apparently attended to another matter requiring his attention,

the mingled cries and expostulations of the cabin-boy sufficiently indicating its nature.

The boat, under Conyngham's strong and steady strokes, now came slowly and without mishap alongside the great black hull of the vessel, and it soon became manifest that, although all danger was past, there yet remained difficulty ahead; for when the boat was made fast and the ladder lowered the elder of the two ladies firmly and emphatically denied her ability to make its ascent. The French boatman, shivering in a borrowed greatcoat, and with a vociferation which flavored the air with cognac, added his entreaties to those of the mate and steward. In the small boat Conyngham, in French, and the lady's daughter, in Spanish, represented that at least half of the heavenly host having intervened to save her from so great a peril as that safely passed through, could surely accomplish this smaller feat with ease. But the lady still hesitated, and the mate, having clambered down into the boat, grabbed Conyngham's arm with a large and not unkindly hand, and pushed him forcibly toward the ladder.

"You hadn't no business, Mr. Conyngham," he said gruffly, "to leave the ship like that, and like as not you've got your death of cold. Just you get aboard and leave these women to me. You get to your bunk, mister, and stooard 'll bring you something hot."

There was naught but obedience in the matter, and Conyngham was soon between the blankets, alternately shivering and burning in the first stages of a severe chill.

sense of spring and warmth slowly gave life to those who could breathe the air on deck, Conyngham lay in his little cabin and heeded nothing, for when the fever left him he was only conscious of a great lassitude, and scarce could raise himself to take such nourishment as the steward, with a rough but kindly skill, prepared for him.

"Why the deuce I ever came, why the deuce I ever went overboard after a couple of señoras I don't know," he repeated to himself during the long hours of that long watch below.

Why, indeed? except that you must needs go forth into the world and play the only stake it owns there. Nor is Frederick Conyngham the first who, having no knowledge of the game of life, throws all upon the board to wait upon the hazard of a die.

CHAPTER IV.

LE PREMIER PAS.

"Be as one that knoweth and yet holdeth his tongue."

The little town of Algeciras lies, as many know, within sight of Gibraltar, and separated from that stronghold by a broad bay. It is on the mainland of Spain, and in direct communication by road with the great port of Cadiz. Another road, little better than a bridlepath, runs northward toward Ximena, and through the corkwood forests of that plain toward the mountain ranges that rise between Ronda and the sea.

By this bridle-path, it is whispered, a vast smuggled commerce has ever found passage to the mainland, and scarce a boatman or passenger lands at Algeciras from Gibraltar but carries somewhere on his person as much tobacco as he may hope to conceal with safety. Algeciras, with its fair, white houses, its prim church and sleepy quay, where the blue waters lap and sparkle in innocent sunlight, is, it is to be feared, a town of small virtue, and the habitation of scoundrels; for this is the stronghold of those contrabandista whom song and legend have praised as the boldest, the merriest, the most ro

country the man who can boast of a smuggling ancestry holds high his head and looks down on honest folk.

The Granville, having dropped anchor to the north of the rough stone pier, was soon disburdened of her passengers, the ladies going ashore with undisguised delight, and leaving behind them many gracious messages of thanks to the gentleman whose gallantry had resulted so disastrously, for Conyngham was still in bed, though now nearly recovered. Truth to tell he did not hurry to make his appearance in the general cabin, and came on deck a few hours after the departure of the ladies, whose gratitude he desired to avoid.

Two days of the peerless sunshine of these southern waters completely restored him to health, and he prepared to go ashore. It was afternoon when his boat touched the beach, and the idlers, without whom no Mediterranean seaboard is complete, having passed the heat of the day in a philosophic apathy, amounting in many cases to a siesta, now roused themselves sufficiently to take a dignified and indifferent interest in the new arrival. A number of boys, an old soldier, several artillery men from the pretty and absolutely useless fort, a priest, and a female vendor of oranges put themselves about so much as to congregate in a little knot at the spot where Conyngham landed.

"Body of Bacchus!" said the priest, with a pinch of snuff poised before his long nose; "an Englishman. See his gold watch-chain."

This remark called forth several monosyllabic sounds, and the onlookers watched the safe discharge of Conyngham's personal effects with a characteristic placidity of demeanor, which was at once tolerant and gently surprised. That any one should have the energy to come ashore when he was comfortable on board, or leave the shore when amply provided there with sunshine, elbow-room, and other necessaries of life, presented itself to them as a fact worthy of note, but not of emulation. The happiest man is he

who has reduced the necessities of life to a minimum.

No one offered to assist Conyngham. In Spain the onlooker keeps his hands in his pockets.

"The English, see you, travel for pleasure," said the old soldier, nodding his head in the direction of Gibraltar, pink and shimmering across the bay. The priest brushed some stray grains of snuff from the front of his faded cassock, once black, but now of a greenybrown. He was a singularly tall man, gaunt and grey, with deep lines drawn downward from eye to chin. His mouth was large and tender, with a humorous corner ever awaiting a jest. His eyes were sombre and deeply shaded by grey brows, but one of them had a twinkle lurking and waiting, as in the corner of his mouth.

"Every one stretches his legs according to the length of his coverlet," he said, and, turning, he courteously raised his hat to Conyngham, who passed at that moment on his way to the hotel. The little knot of onlookers broke up, and the boys wandered toward the fort, before the gate of which a game at bowls was in progress.

"The padre has a hungry look," reflected Conyngham. "Think I'll invite him to dinner."

For Geoffrey Horner had succeeded in conveying more money to the man who had taken his sins upon himself, and while Conyngham possessed money he usually had the desire to spend it.

Conyngham went to the Fonda della Marina, which stands to-day, a house of small comfort and no great outward cleanliness; but, as in most Spanish inns, the performance was better than the promise, and the bedroom offered to the traveller was nothing worse than bare and ill-furnished. With what Spanish he at this time possessed the Englishman made known his wants, and inquired of the means of prosecuting his journey to Ronda.

"You know the Captain-General Vincente of Ronda?" he asked.

"But yes; by reputation. Who does not in Andalusia?" replied the host, a

stout man who had once cooked for a military mess at Gibraltar, and professed himself acquainted with the requirements of English gentlemen.

"I have a letter to General Vincente, and must go to Ronda as soon as possible. These are stirring times in Spain."

The man's bland face suddenly assumed an air of cunning, and he glanced over his shoulder to see that none overheard.

"Your excellency is right," he answered. "But for such as myself one side is as good as another. Is it not so? Carlist or Christino-the money is the same."

Conyngham nodded, laughing frankly. "Glad to meet you," he said. "I saw you as I came along. My name is Conyngham, and I am an Englishman, as you hear. I know very little Spanish."

"That will come, that will come," said the priest, moving toward the window. "Perhaps too soon, if you are going to stay any length of time in this country. Let me advise you; do not learn our language too quickly."

He shook his head and moved toward the open window.

"See to your girths before you mount. Eh? Here is the veranda, where it is pleasant in the afternoon.

"Who knows?" said the innkeeper with outspread hands. "Anything that his excellency requires shall be forthcoming," he added grandiosely. "This is the dining-room, and here at the side a little saloon where the ladies sit. But at present we have only gentlemen in the hotel, it being the winter time." "Then you have other guests?" inquired Conyngham.

"But yes; always. In Algeciras there are always travellers-noblemen, like his excellency, for pleasure; others for commerce, the government, the politics."

"No flies enter a shut mouth, my friend," said a voice at the door, and both turned to see the priest who had witnessed Conyngham's arrival standing in the doorway.

"Pardon, señor," said the old man, coming forward with his shabby hat in his hand-"pardon my interruption. I came at an opportune moment, for I heard the word politics."

He turned and shook a lean finger at the innkeeper, who was backing toward the door with many bows.

"Ah, bad Miguel!" he said. "Will you make it impossible for gentlemen to put up at your execrable inn? The man's cooking is superior to his discretion, señor. I, too, am a traveller, and for the moment a guest here, I have the honor. My name is Concha, the Padra Concha, a priest, as you see."

He spoke with the grave courtesy of his countrymen for every Spaniard, even the lowest muleteer, esteems himself a gentleman, and knows how to act as such. The Padre Concha had a pleasant voice and habit of gesticulating slowly with one large and not too clean hand that suggested the pulpit. He had led the way to a spacious veranda, where there were small tables and chairs, and at the outer corners orange-trees in square green boxes.

"We will have a bottle of wine. Is it not so? Yes," he said, and gravely clapped his hands together to summon the waiter, an Oriental custom still in use in the Peninsular.

The wine was brought and duly uncorked, during which ceremony the priest waited and watched with the pre-occupied air of a host careful for the entertainment of his guest. He tasted the wine critically.

"It might be worse," he said. "I beg you to excuse it not being better." There was something simple in the old man's manner that won Conyngham's regard.

"The wine is excellent," he said. "It is my welcome to Spain."

"Ah! Then this is your first visit to this country," the priest said indifferently, his eyes wandering to the open sea, where a few feluccas lay becalmed.

"Yes."

Conyngham turned and looked toward the sea also. It was late in the afternoon and a certain drowsiness of the atmosphere made conversation even between comparative strangers a slower, easier matter than with us in the brisk North. After a moment the Englishman turned with, perhaps, the intention of studying his companion's face, only to find the deep grey eyes fixed on his own.

"Spain," said the padre, "is a wonderful country-rich, beautiful, with a climate like none in Europe; but God and the devil come to closer quarters here than elsewhere. Still, for a traveller-for pleasure-I think this country is second to none."

out which no Spaniard goes abroad at sunset. He looked toward the hotel, and was evidently speaking of it with a boatman, whose attitude was full of promise and assurance.

The priest rose and emptied his glass. "I must ask you to excuse me. Vespers wait for no man, and I hear the bell," he said with a grave bow, and went indoors.

Left to himself, Conyngham lapsed into the easy reflections of a man whose habit it is to live for the present, leaving the future and the past to take care of themselves. Perhaps he thought, as some do, that the past dies-which is a mistake. The past only sleeps, and we carry it with us through life, slumbering. Those are wise who bear it

The sun had set, and Gibraltar, a

fading into the twilight of the east,

"Ah!"

"And it will be inexpedient for me to return for some months to come. I thought of taking service in the army, and have a letter to General Vincente, who lives at Ronda, as I understand, sixty miles from here, across the mountains."

"Yes," said the priest thoughtfully; "Ronda is sixty miles from here, across the mountains."

He was watching a boat, which approached the shore from the direction of Gibraltar. The wind having dropped, the boatmen had lowered the sail and were now rowing, giving voice to a song, which floated across the smooth sea sleepily. It was an ordinary Algeciras wherry, built to carry a little cargo and perhaps a dozen passengers, a fishing-boat that smelt strangely of tobacco. The shore was soon reached, and the passengers, numbering half-a-dozen, stepped over the gunwale on to a small landingstage. One of them was better dressed than his companions, a smart man with a bright flower in the buttonhole of his jacket, carrying the flowing cloak, brightly lined with colored velvet, with

made Conyngham turn his head, half expecting the return of Father Concha. But in the doorway and with the evident intention of coming toward himself, Conyngham perceived a handsome, dark-faced man, of medium height, with a smart moustache brushed upward, clever eyes, and the carriage of a soldier. This stranger unfolded his cloak, for in Spain it is considered illmannered to address a stranger and remain cloaked.

"Señor," he said, with a gesture of the hat courteous, and yet manly enough to savor more of the camp than the court-"señor, I understand that you are journeying to Ronda." "Yes."

"I, too, intended to go across the mountains, and hoped to arrive here in time to accompany friends, who, I hear, have already started on their journey. I have also received letters which necessitate my return to Malaga. You have already divined that I come to ask a favor."

He brought forward a chair and sat down, drawing from his pocket a silver cigarette-case, which he offered to the Englishman. There was a certain picturesqueness in the man's attitude and