head. "'E very good gentleman to me, sir--good master. I
loved 'im. 'E dead." For a minute he gazed wistfully at the sky;
then, as if to clinch the sad matter, he turned to Manvers. "I bury
'im all right," he said briskly, and nodded inward the fact.

Manvers considered for a moment. "I'll give you," he said, and looked
at Gil keenly as he said it, "I'll give you one _peseta_ a day." He
saw his eyes fade and grow blank, though the genial smile hovered still
on his lips. Then the light broke out upon him again.

"All right, sir," he said. "I take, and thank you very much."

Manvers said immediately, "I'll give you two," and Gil Perez accepted
the correction silently, with a bow. By the end of the day they were
on the footing of friends, but not without one short crossing of
swords. After dinner, when Manvers strolled to the door of the inn, he
found his guide waiting for him. Gil was in a confidential humour, it
seemed.

"You care see something, sir?"

"What sort of a thing, for instance?" he was asked.

Gil Perez shrugged. "What you like, sir." He peered into his patron's
face, and there was infinite suggestion in his next question. "You see
fine women?"

Manvers had expected something of the sort and had a steely stare ready
for him. "No, thanks," he said drily, and Gil saluted and withdrew.
He was at the door next morning, affable yet respectful, confident in
his powers of pleasing, of interesting, of arranging everything; but he
never presumed again. He knew his affair.

Three days' sightseeing taught master and man their bearings. Manvers
got into the way of forgetting that Gil Perez was there, except when it
was convenient to remember him; Gil, on his part, learned to
distinguish between his patron's soliloquies and his conversation. He
never made a mistake after the third day. If Manvers, in the course of
a ramble, stopped abruptly, buried a hand in his beard and said aloud
that he would be shot if he knew which way to turn, Gil Perez watched
him closely, but made no remark.

Even, "Look here, you know, this won't do," failed to move him beyond a
state of tension, like that of a cat in the act to pounce. He had
found out that Manvers talked to himself, and was put about by
interruptions; and if you realise how sure and certain he was that he
knew much better than his master what was the very thing, or the last
thing, he ought to do, you will see that he must have put considerable
r