"Would you like a mantilla of real Spanish lace for your head and
shoulders? Well, you shall have one that I brought from Spain with me,
for I know no other lady in the land whom it would become better. But,
Mistress Betty, you told me wrong about your master. I went to the
chapel and he was not there."

"He was there, Senor," she answered, eager to set herself right with
this most agreeable and discriminating foreigner, "for I saw him go in a
moment before, and he did not come out again."

"Then, Senora, where could he have hidden himself? Has the place a
crypt?"

"None that I have heard of; but," she added, "there is a kind of little
room behind the altar."

"Indeed. How do you know that? I saw no room."

"Because one day I heard a voice behind the tapestry, Senor, and,
lifting it, saw a sliding door left open, and Master Castell kneeling
before a table and saying his prayers aloud."

"How strange! And what was there on the table?"

"Only a queer-shaped box of wood like a little house, and two
candlesticks, and some rolls of parchment. But I forgot, Senor; I
promised Master Castell to say nothing about that place, for he turned
and saw me, and came at me like a watchdog out of its kennel. You won't
say that I told you, will you, Senor?"