When I announced my name at the entrance, the gate porter at once
admitted me, and rang a little bell. In a moment who should appear but
Chita, my lady's Spanish maid. She courtesied and motioned me to follow
her, without betraying the slightest sign of recognition. But the moment
we were out of sight of the porter, she paused to whisper:

"_Tsst!_ Say nothing. They have sent me here that I might not aid her to
see you or write to you. They do not know that the padre is a friend. It
is as well that he even does not know how greatly I wish to aid you.
Senor, you are a _caballero_ and a man, and she loves you. It is right
that you should have her, though you be twice over a _heretico_. But she
will not wed unless the padre gives his blessing. It is true love
between you. If you cannot be a Christian, make pretence. For her sake,
bow to the holy images and cross yourself. Deceive the padre--for her
sake!"

"No, Chita," I replied. "A _caballero_ may lie to save a lady's good
name, but not to win her."

"_Peste!_ Then you will lose her!"

"We shall see. Lead me in."

She took me into a cosey library, where I found Father Rocus seated in a
huge easy-chair, one foot cushioned upon a stool, a glass and decanter
at his elbow, and a book of philosophy in his jewelled, white hand.

"_Hola_, Don Juan!" he called at sight of me. "You come in good season.
Be seated on the saddle-chair It will save your new coat-tails a
creasing. I will not rise. A touch of the gout, as you see,--the first
in months."

"Too much port," I suggested, swinging astride the narrow chair of
carved mahogany. "Better take to sour claret for a while."

"_Nada!_ not while I can bear the pain. I might pass for an English
squire--I cannot forego the port."

"I will write you a prescription that will ease the pain. Nothing will
cure you but abstinence."

He drew a wry face between his smiles. "Then I fear my case is hopeless.
I am far from being a true Spaniard.--Chita, a glass for Senor
Robinson."

The woman fetched and filled a glass while I drew my chair up to the
marble-topped table-desk and scribbled a prescription. Father Rocus
signed her to go out, and turned to me, still smiling, but with a
sharpened glance.

"So you have already followed my advice and come to mass," he said.

"Your Reverence has a keen eye," I replied. "It seemed to me I kept
close behind my pillar."

"Men are not numerous at early mass. Brawny, six-foot _caballeros_