marched away; and my father, with my mother, was carried to his home,
still pretending to be dead. It had been all arranged except the awful
thing, my mother's death. Who could foresee that? She ought to have
been told; but who could guess that she would hear of it all, and come
at the moment like that? So, that was the way she went, and I was left
alone with my father." She had told the truth in all, except in
conveying that her mother was not of the lower orders, and that she went
to the river to wash her spaniel and her pony instead of her clothes.

"Your father--did they not arrest him again? Did they not know?"

She shrugged her shoulders. That is not the way in Spain. He was shot,
as the orders were, with his back to the wall by a squad of soldiers with
regulation bullets. If he chose to come to life again, that was his own
affair. The Government would take no notice of him after he was dead.
He could bury himself, or he could come alive--it was all the same to
them. So he came alive again."

"That is a story which would make a man's name if he wrote it down,"
said Jean Jacques eloquently. "And the poor little senora, but my heart
bleeds for her! To go like that in such pain, and not to know--If she
had been my wife I think I would have gone after her to tell her it was
all right, and to be with her--"

He paused confused, for that seemed like a reflection on her father's
chivalry, and for a man who had risked his life for his banished king--
what would he have thought if he had been told that Sebastian Dolores was
an anarchist who loathed kings!--it was an insult to suggest that he did
not know the right thing to do, or, knowing, had not done it.