would
follow ransom. But Senor Nobody truly could not be expected to take
interest! Most conceivably the stranger's lot must remain the
stranger's lot. In that case pardon for the annoyance! If,
miraculously, the bearer did find Senor Nobody--if Senor Nobody read
this letter--if strangers were not strangers to Senor Nobody--if gold
and mercy lay alike in Senor Nobody's keeping--then so and so must be
done. Followed three or four lines of explicit directions. Did all the
above come about, then truly would the undersigned, living, and
pursuing his journey into France, and making return to Senor Nobody
when he might, rest the latter's slave! Followed the signature, _Ian
Rullock_.

Alexander sat by the window, in the rocky island, and the Spanish
river flowed by. It was dusk. Then came lights, and the English
secretary and physician, with servants to lay the table and bring
supper. Glenfernie ate and drank with the two men. His lordship was
reported better, would doubtless be up to-morrow. The talk fell upon
Greece, to which country the nobleman was, in the end, bound. Greek
art, Greek literature, Greek myth. Here the secretary proved scholar
and enthusiast, a liker especially of the byways of myth. He and
Alexander voyaged here and there among them. "And you remember, too,"
said the secretary, "the Cranes of Ibycus--"

They rose at last from table. Secretary and physician must return to
their patron. "I am going to hunt bed and sleep," said Glenfernie.
"To-morrow, if his lordship is recovered, we'll go see that church."

In the rude, small bedchamber he found his Spanish servant. Presently
he would dismiss him, but first, "Tell me, Gil, of the banditti in
these mountains."

Gil told. The foreigner who employed him asked questions, referred
intelligently from answer to answer, and at last had in hand a compact
body of information. He bade Gil good night. Ways of banditti in any
age or place were much the same!

The room was small, with a rude and narrow bed. There was a window,
small, too, but open to the night. Pouring through this there entered
a vagrant procession of sound, with, in the interstices, a silence
that had its own voice. As the night deepened the procession thinned,
at last died away.

When he undressed he had taken the letter to Senor Nobody and put it
upon the table. Now, lying still and straight upon the bed in the dark
room, there seemed a blacker darkness where it lay, four feet from
him, a litt