"You are really going to venture out there?" I asked, not over pleased by the news.
"Venture? Of course I am. I'm going on business, you know. My lawyer has put before me a most tempting speculation--a Spanish silver mine; and I'm going out to look into it myself. A poor lone widow must have something to occupy her, you see. Now, you will be nice, won't you, and give me all the help you can?"
"I really think you'd better not go," said I; and I meant it very heartily.
"You know, that's real sweet of you. It's the first nice thing you've said since you came back. It shows you take sufficient interest in me to wish me to keep out of danger."
"If you persist in going I can help you a good deal, I think," I said, gravely.
"Then I can introduce to you just the best fellow in the world--my old friend, Silas Mayhew, and he'll do everything you want."
"I do think you're horrid, and that's a fact," she cried, turning away with a pout of annoyance. But nothing would stop her going, and such was her resolution that she did not rest content until she had arranged to make the journey with Mercy under my escort.
I fixed a date about a fortnight ahead, as I wished certain business matters arising out of my father's death to be settled before I left; but I had a note from Mayhew a week before then with news which I regarded as very serious; and it caused a change in my plans. After giving me some Embassy gossip, he wrote--
"I am writing this mainly because I think you will care to know that some very disquieting rumours are afloat about Sarita Castelar. The Carlists have been unpleasantly active in certain districts, and I hear the Government--Quesada, that is--is meditating a number of arrests. Amongst those listed for this is, I have every reason to believe, the Senorita Castelar.
"By the way, a letter came for you to the Embassy to-day, and I forward it with one or two more I found waiting at your rooms."
The letter filled me with apprehension on Sarita's account, and fired me with eagerness to be back in Madrid. I sat chewing gloomily the thought of her danger; I knew how urgent it might be if Quesada once decided to strike, and I resolved to return to Madrid at once. Then I glanced hurriedly at the enclosed letters. Two or three were small bills, but one bore the Saragossa post mark, and the writing, a man's hand, was unknown to me. But a glimpse of its contents showed me its importance.