blindness.

In body and mind he seemed to be almost a young man. But Ramon de Sarrion
said that he had known him all his life. And the Count de Sarrion had
spoken with Christina when that woman was Queen of Spain.

Mon was still astir, although the bells of the Cathedral of the Virgin of
the Pillar, immediately behind his house, had struck the half hour. It
was more than thirty minutes since the ferry-boat had sidled across the
river, and Mon glanced at the clock on his mantelpiece. He expected, it
would seem, a sequel to the arrival which had been so carefully noted.

And at last the sequel came. A soft knock, as of fat fingers, made Mon
glance towards the door, and bid the knocker enter. The door opened, and
in its darkened entry stood the large form of the friar who had rendered
such useful aid to a stricken traveler. The light of Mon's lamp showed
this holy man to be large and heavy of face, with the narrow forehead of
the fanatic. With such a face and head, this could not be a clever man.
But he is a wise worker who has tools of different temper in his bag. Too
fine a steel may snap. Too delicately fashioned an instrument may turn in
the hand when suddenly pressed against the grain.

Mon held out his hand, knowing that there would be no verbal message.
From the mysterious folds of the friar's sleeves a letter instantly
emerged.

"They have blundered. The man is still living. You had better come," it
said; and that was all.

"And what do you know of this affair, my brother?" asked Mon, holding the