



Produced by Al Haines.




[Illustration: Cover art]




[Illustration: "A WILD PASSION OF EXCITEMENT, UPROAR, AND TUMULT
POSSESSED THE VAST AUDIENCE."--_Page_ 216.]




                              *SARITA, THE
                                CARLIST*


                                   BY

                          ARTHUR W. MARCHMONT



           _Author of "In the Name of a Woman," "For Love or
                   Crown," "By Right of Sword," etc._



                                TORONTO
                             McLEOD & ALLEN
                               PUBLISHERS




          Entered according to Act of Parliament of Canada, in
         the year nineteen hundred and two, by McLEOD & ALLEN,
                   at the Department of Agriculture.




                              *CONTENTS.*

CHAPTER.

      I. The Victim of a Woman's Preference
     II. The Gate of Hazard
    III. Carlists
     IV. Sarita Castelar
      V. The Explanation
     VI. "Counting All Renegades Lovers of Satan"
    VII. Sarita, the Carlist
   VIII. Sebastian Quesada
     IX. The Quesada Version
      X. In London
     XI. "The Ways of the Carlists Will be Hard"
    XII. Sarita's Welcome
   XIII. The Fight
    XIV. A Coward's Story
     XV. The Abduction
    XVI. After the Rescue
   XVII. War to the Knife
  XVIII. At the Opera House
    XIX. A Carlist Gathering
     XX. At the Hotel De l'Opera
    XXI. Sarita's Flight
   XXII. An Unexpected Meeting
  XXIII. News of Sarita
   XXIV. A Check
    XXV. At Calvarro's
   XXVI. The Plea of Love
  XXVII. Sarita Hears the Truth
 XXVIII. How Luck Can Change
   XXIX. Quesada Again
    XXX. Suspense
   XXXI. At the Palace
  XXXII. Livenza's Revenge
 XXXIII. The Hut on the Hillside
  XXXIV. A King's Riddle




                                *SARITA,
                              THE CARLIST*



                              *CHAPTER I*

                  *THE VICTIM OF A WOMAN'S PREFERENCE*


If A won't marry B, ought C to be exiled?

Stated in that bald fashion the problem looks not unlike an equation
that has lost caste and been relegated to a nonsense book, or lower
still, to some third-rate conundrum column.  And yet it was the real
crux of a real situation, and meant everything to me, Ferdinand
Carbonnell, the victim of a woman's preference.

It came about in this way.  The Glisfoyle peerage, as everyone knows, is
only a poor one, and originality not being a strong point with us,
Lascelles, my elder and only brother, having taken counsel with my
father, fell back upon the somewhat worn device of looking out for a
wife with money.  He was not very successful in the quest, but at length
a desirable quarry was marked down in the person of a Mrs. Abner B.
Curwen, the young widow of an American millionaire; and great
preparations were made to lure her into the net that was spread in the
most open and unabashed manner before her very eyes.

But those eyes--bright, merry, and laughing--had a brain behind them
that was practical and penetrating, and she saw the meshes quite
plainly.  She accepted the hospitality with pleasure, did her best to
make a friend of my only sister, Mercy, was properly subdued, if not
awed, in the presence of my father, and, in fact, did everything
expected of her except the one thing--she would not let Lascelles make
love to her, and completely out-manoeuvred him whenever he tried to
bring matters to a head.

Moreover, a crisis of another kind was in the brewing.  Mrs. Curwen
herself was not an American, but a north-country Englishwoman, who had
used her pretty looks and sharp wits to captivate the rich American, and
she took Mercy into her confidence one day to an extent that had
results.

"I am very fond of you, Mercy dear, and would give much to have you as
my sister; but your brother, Lascelles, is too formal, too stiff in the
backbone, for me.  I have made one marriage for a reason that wasn't
love: but I married an old man; and when I marry again it won't be for
either position or money. I should dearly love to have you for my
sister, as I say, but I could not marry your brother Lascelles.
Ferdinand is just awfully nice--but I suppose he's a dreadful
scapegrace."

I think Mercy laughed hugely at this--her merry heart laughs at most
things--and certainly, when she told me--as being my best particular
chum she was bound to do immediately--we laughed heartily over it
together.

"She's a bright, jolly, little soul and beastly rich, but I'm not having
any," said I, shaking my head.  "I don't want to cut out poor old
Cello"--this was an unrighteous nickname of ours for Lascelles, with a
covert reference to his deep, solemn, twangy voice.  "But you'd better
tell the father."

"You might do worse, Nand," declared my sister. "Her wealth would give
you just the chance you want; and it would be awfully jolly to have a
rich brother, and she's a good sort; and you could settle down and----"

"Don't be a little humbug, Mercy.  She's all right, I dares