"Ah! the night, it ess splendid," he repeated, in broken English,
rubbing his hands, as if washing in the air.

Still no reply.

"You shall come from Sank Hosay?"

"I sha'ant."

The stranger muttered something in Spanish, but the landlord, who
reappeared to place Guest's supper on a table on the veranda, here
felt the obligation of interfering to protect a customer apparently
so aggressive and so opulent. He pushed the inquisitor aside, with
a few hasty words, and, after Guest had finished his meal, offered
to show him his room. It was a dark vaulted closet on the ground-
floor, gaining light from the stable-yard through a barred iron
grating. At the first glimpse it looked like a prison cell;
looking more deliberately at the black tresseled bed, and the
votive images hanging on the wall, it might have been a tomb.

"It is the best," said the landlord. "The Padre Vincento will have
none other on his journey."

"I suppose God protects him," said Guest; "that door don't." He
pointed to the worm-eaten door, without bolt or fastening.

"Ah, what matter! Are we not all friends?"

"Certainly," responded Guest, with his surliest manner, as he