wore coarse garments and went barefoot, should batten upon rich
food and store up wines that gold could not purchase, struck him as
a hideous incongruity.

"And the monks drink this nectar?" he said aloud, and laughed
sneeringly. " I know the breed - the fair found belly wi' fat capon
lined. Tha's your poverty stricken Capuchin."

Souza looked at him in sudden alarm, bethinking himself that all
Englishmen were heretics, and knowing nothing of subtle distinctions
between English and Irish. In silence Butler finished the third and
last bottle, and his thoughts fixed themselves with increasing
insistence upon a wine reputed better than this of which there was
great store in the cellars of the convent of Tavora.

Abruptly he asked: "Where's Tavora?" He was thinking perhaps of the
comfort that such wine would bring to a company of war-worn soldiers
in the valley of the Agueda.

"Some ten leagues from here," answered Souza, and pointed to a map
that hung upon the wall.

The lieutenant rose, and rolled a thought unsteadily across the room.
He was a tall, loose-limbed fellow, blue-eyed, fair-complexioned,
with a thatch of fiery red hair excellently suited to his temperament.
He halted before the map, and with legs wide apart, to afford him the
steadying support of a broad basis, he traced with his finger the
course of the Douro, fumbled about the district of Regoa, and
finally hit upon the place he sought.