than a whole house carried bodily to the ground by the fall of the
steeple of the church of Santa Maria del Monte. Conyngham stopped
dead, and threw his arms over his head. The crash was terrific,
deafening--and for a few moments the Englishman was stunned. He
opened his eyes and closed them again, for the dust and powdered
mortar whirled round him like smoke. Almost blinded, he crept back
by the way he had come, and the street was already full of people.
In the Calle Preciados he sat down on a door-step, and there waited
until he had gained mastery over his limbs, which shook still.
Presently he made his way back to the house where he had left
Concha.

The man Sebastian had, a week earlier, seen and recognised Conyngham
as the bearer of the letter addressed to Colonel Monreal, and left
at that officer's lodging in Xeres at the moment of his death in the
streets. Sebastian approached Conyngham, and informed him that he
had in his possession sundry papers belonging to the late Colonel
Monreal, which might be of value to a Royalist. This was,
therefore, not the first time that Conyngham had climbed the narrow
stairs of the tall house with two doors.

He found Concha busying himself by the bedside, where Sebastian lay
in the unconsciousness of deep drink.

'He has probably been drugged,' said the priest. 'Or, he may be
dying. What is more important to us is, that the letter is not
here. I have searched. Larralde escaped you?'

'Yes; and of course has the letter.'