is own account. "That child--she's no
more--I must do something for her. Not a bad 'un, I'll swear, not
fundamentally bad. I don't doubt her as I doubt the male: he's too
glib by half... She's distractingly pretty--what nectarine colour!
The mouth of a child--that droop at the corners--and as soft as a
child's too." He shook his head. "No more kissing or I shall be in a
mess."

When he reached his tree and his luncheon, to find his companions gone,
he was a little taken aback. His genial proposals were suddenly
chilled. "Queer couple--I had a notion that they knew something of
each other. So they've made a match of it."

Then he saw a brass crucifix lying in the middle of his plate.
"Hulloa!" He stooped to pick it up. It was still warm. He smiled and
felt a glow come back. "Now that's charming of her. That's a pretty
touch--from a pretty girl. She's no baggage, depend upon it." The
string had plainly hung the thing round her neck, the warmth was that
of her bosom. He held it tenderly while he turned it about. "I'll
warrant now, that was all she had upon her. Not a maravedi beside. I
know it's the last thing to leave 'em. I'm repaid, more than repaid.
I'll wear you for a bit, my friend, if you won't scorch a heretic."
Here he slipped the string over his head, and dropped the cross within
his collar. "I'll treat you to a chain in Valladolid," was his final
thought before he consigned Manuela to his cabinet of memories.

He poured and drank, hacked at his ham-bone and ate. "By the Lord," he
went on commenting, "they've not had bite or sup. Too busy with their
match-making? Too delicate to feast without invitation? Which?" He
pondered the puzzle. He had invited Manuela, he was sure: had he
included her swain? If not, the thing was clear. She wouldn't eat
without him, and he couldn't eat without his host. It was the best
thing he knew of Esteban.

He finished his meal, filled and lit a pipe, smoked half of it
drowsily, then lay and slept. Nothing disturbed his three hours' rest,
not even the gathering cloud of flies, whose droning over a
neighbouring thicket must have kept awake a lighter sleeper. But
Manvers was so fast that he did not hear footsteps in the wood, nor the
sound of picking in the peaty ground.

It was four o'clock and more when he awoke, sat up and looked at his
watch. Yawning and stretching at ease, he then became aware of a
friar, with a brown shaven head and fine bla