"What is the meaning of this?" said Miss Cheyne, alert, and rising,
characteristically, to the emergency of the moment.

Whittaker bit his lip and looked at the Spaniard, who seemed to be
dazed.

"You had better go," he said, almost gently.

"What is the meaning of this?" repeated Miss Cheyne, looking from
one to the other. Then she turned to Whittaker, by what instinct
she never knew. "Who is this gentleman?" she asked, angrily. "What
have you against him?"

Whittaker, still biting his lip, looked hard at her. Then he made a
gesture with his two hands, which was more eloquent than a thousand
words; for it seemed to convey to the two persons who breathlessly
awaited his words that he found himself in a position that was
intolerable.

"I knew him in Cuba," he said slowly. "I have nothing against him,
Miss Cheyne; but the man is a priest."

* * *

"There, Senorita--I have made it myself."

The proprietor of the Venta of the Moor's Mill set down upon the
table in front of the inn a cracked dish containing an omelette. It
was not a bad omelette, though not quite innocent of wood-ash,
perhaps, and somewhat ill-shapen. The man laughed gaily and drew