"My crown is without leaves,
For she sits in the dust and grieves,
Now we are come to our kingdom."
"Anthony and Cleopatra," KIPLING.

Once more the procession of conspirators toiled on its way up the irregular mountain path. The horses slipped and stumbled under their unskilful riders, the mules climbed steadily upwards. No one spoke.

As usual Arithelli led the way.

Vardri, who had arrived last of all, rode forward to join her, but was curtly ordered to the rear by Sobrenski.

They should see enough of each other later on,—when it was time.

Before they started on their ride he spoke to Arithelli alone, and gave her his final instructions, and saw for himself that the pistol she wore at her belt was properly charged. He never left anything to chance, especially in important undertakings such as the present one.

"There will not be a long meeting to-night," he said. "You will have an hour free to do your work. You hear?"

His eyes were fixed on hers, compelling an answer. None came, though she bowed her head in token of acquiescence, and though he could hear no word Sobrenski was satisfied. He had seen that shrinking attitude, that mechanical gesture before. In the plot to assassinate General Morales there had been a young Spanish student who had given some trouble. He had developed a conscience at the last minute, and vowed that he could not kill an old and defenceless man, that he would rather die himself.

He had died, and so had Morales, and both by the explosion of the bomb that had been launched by the hand of the former.

Sobrenski held rightly that those who meddled with politics on either side must dispense with such useless things as scruples.

The night was still and sultry, with a full moon hanging low in the sky. The weather had been unnaturally warm for the time of year, all day, down in the city.

They were all glad when they had mounted above the sea-level.

There was a little breeze met them, and the tired and patiently plodding horses raised their heads.

Arithelli drew a long breath of relief as she shifted in her saddle, and glanced back to see if they were all in sight.

The manta in which she was wrapped stifled her, and the weight of her own hair under the wig and sombrero made her head ache and throb violently.

As they rode she rehearsed her plans in her own mind, telling herself over and over again the things that she must say and do when she was alone with Vardri.

To-night would see Sobrenski's triumph, his grand coup, and when it was all over perhaps she would have peace.

How slowly they all seemed to ride, she thought. She wondered how many of the other men knew that she was chosen to act the part of murderess. Some of them had been kind to her in a rough way, especially the older ones.

But even if they did pity her a little, not one among them but would expect her to do the thing that they would consider obviously her duty.

No one would raise a voice on her behalf, whatever their private sentiments.

The majority of them would probably look upon her as a heroine, for she would have rid them of a spy, a traitor.

She could only hope that she might keep her brain clear, her courage firm till the supreme moment.

Once in the course of that awful day her nerves had given out in physical collapse, and her shaking hands had let fall the mirror of AgnÈs SorÉl.

It lay on the floor in her bedroom, broken in three places.

Her early days in Ireland had given her a belief in the omens of good and evil, for in the "emerald gem of the Western world" superstition runs riot.

The faith in it was in her blood, though it needed no broken mirror to tell her what dread thing awaited her, towards which she must advance, urged by fate.

She had only written one letter, and that one was to Emile. Now that he was gone there was no one else who cared.

Something told her now that his last words had only been an attempt to comfort her, to ease her mind, and that she would wait in vain for his return.

Estelle would weep for a little while, and drink a great deal to drown her tears, and then forget. They were nearly at the hut now. She could see it, a grotesque shadow thrown across the silvered earth.

She slipped off and walked, leading her mule by the bridle.

Behind her were subdued curses, the rattle of slipping hoofs and falling stones, as the animals climbed the last and steepest piece of road, which ended in the plateau on which the building stood.

In front of it was a single large tree, but most of the ground close by bore nothing higher than dwarf shrubs and long grass.

When the cavalcade drew up and dismounted, Vardri was discovered to be missing.

He had been late in starting, lagged behind the others and dropped out of sight before they were scarcely clear of the town. Being the last of the file his disappearance had not at first been remarked.

Sobrenski refused to allow of time being wasted in a search.

He ordered the rest of the men up into the loft, and Arithelli to her work of unharnessing.

He himself remained standing in the shadow of the doorway, his eyes narrowed with anger, his thin lips compressed till they were merely a line.

Here was a complication that he had not foreseen. For the first time in his life his wit and cunning had been at fault.

He must have been mad not to have kept a sharper lookout on Vardri, but he had reckoned he was secure with Arithelli as decoy.

Could it be possible that she had been mad enough to warn Vardri? If so, then why was she here herself?

Either she had more courage or else she was more foolish even than he could have believed it possible for a female creature to be. Women took good care of their own skins in general!

If Vardri meant to try and escape, surely they would have gone together.

Perhaps his, Sobrenski's, detailed descriptions of the fate of others who had attempted flight had made her decide that it would be safer to remain and throw herself on the mercy of himself and his companions.

He might have miscalculated the force of her attraction for Vardri, but he felt perfectly certain that she was reduced to a state of mechanical imbecility. She could not escape now at all events, even if she suddenly changed her mind.

He would give them both five minutes, and then if Vardri did not appear—!

He began to walk up and down outside, like some prowling animal awaiting its prey.

At regular intervals his shadow crossed and recrossed the patch of light from the open door.

Meanwhile Vardri was riding leisurely up the slope, reining back his horse, and stopping at intervals to put a fair distance between himself and the others. He intended to make a chance of seeing Arithelli alone again, so he meant to wait till the whole crew, and especially Sobrenski, were safely embarked on their eternal discussions. Then he would slip in and help her with the animals, and live in Paradise again for a little space of time.

He had been to her rooms earlier in the day but she had sent down a message to beg him to excuse her. She had a headache, and was lying down, so he had been obliged to go away unsolaced, and longing for the evening.

Now that she had given him her promise to go with him to Austria, there was only to arrange the day and the hour of their departure. For once he was alive to the necessity for prompt action. There was her safety to be considered now. When he had been alone it had not mattered how anything was done or not done, but now everything was different. The world itself was another place. He had already actually written and posted a tentative letter to his father, such a letter as he could never have written if only his interests had been concerned, but he found any sacrifice an easy one now, even the sacrifice of pride.

There was no reason why they should not start to-morrow. It would be safer to get out of the place by going round by the Mediterranean and thence across by way of Italy.

Water-travelling was cheaper, too. He laughed to himself to think how practical he was becoming. How strange it would seem to live in a civilised fashion again, to not be obliged to look at every sou before it was spent, to have servants to wait upon one; enough to eat and drink, and the luxury of cleanliness.

Yet the vagabond life had had its charm, too. He had encountered kindness often, generally from those in more evil plight than his own, and there had been flowers and music and sunshine. True, he had felt horribly ill and dejected on some days, and his wretched cough was an annoyance to himself and to other people, but at times he felt ready for anything, and more energetic than any three of those lazy Spaniards.

Love and Arithelli would be a sure antidote for any misery or disease. For her he had created a House of Dreams, and now the dreams were on the verge of becoming realities. Instead of the sand and stones of that desert that men call Life, a rainbow-coloured future lay stretched out before him. Sunshine and the summertime of love, all that he had ever hoped for, were coming nearer. And joy was hovering near at hand, till he could almost touch her flying robe. Soon he would hold her in his arms, would possess her entirely.

How different Arithelli was from all other women! With her there was never caprice or fickleness. Whatever she said was his law, whatever she wished to do was the right thing.

Now he had abjured the Revolution, his father would be only too glad to have him back, to see him married to a woman of Arithelli's charm and breeding. There had never been any quarrel with his family, except when he had joined the Red Flag party, and it was only natural that they should quarrel over that. Love or the Revolution? There would never be any more doubt now as to which he would choose.

In the old days he had preferred starvation, and the freedom to act, and think as he liked. He had gloried in being an outcast, in suffering for the Cause. Life had been hard at times, but he had known men of ideals and enthusiasms and there had been a certain fascination in the excitement of being hunted. But now that was all over and a new day was dawning for them both, for himself and for Arithelli.

He spoke to his horse and stirred it into a quicker pace.

They must be well out of the way and she would think he was never coming.

Inside the stable Arithelli, tall and straight in her scarlet shirt, moved to and fro at her work, hanging up saddles and bridles, carrying pails of water, ranging on either side of the hut the horses and the mules. Tortured as she was with anxiety, she did not forget the wants of her friends the animals. It came across her mind how once when she had said to Vardri, "Let us see to the horses first," he had said half in jest, "If I were a Spaniard I should be jealous. You always think of the animals before everything else."

One by one the rest of the conspirators tramped heavily up the ladder, leaving her alone with Sobrenski, who stood with his back to the doorway, following her with his eyes as she moved to and fro in the shadows cast by the solitary lamps.

Before he mounted the ladder in his turn, he came across the hut, took her by the shoulder and spoke to her. "Be careful how you do your work, for if it is not well done others will do it for you."

She could not answer; she shuddered at his touch; her hands went up and covered her face.

Sobrenski turned and mounted the worn rungs of the narrow ladder with a lithe, active step. He was quite sure of her now. She would not fail to carry out his will.