tinguish your lamp,
and throw your answer from the window."
In a few minutes the lamp disappeared, the window opened, and Militona
took in her water-jar. In so doing she upset one of the pots of sweet
basil, which fell into the street and was broken to pieces. Amidst the
brown earth scattered upon the pavement, something white was visible. It
was Militona's answer. Andres called a _sereno_, or watchman, who just
then passed, with his lantern at the end of his halbert, and begging him
to lower the light, read the following words, written in a tremulous
hand, and in large irregular letters:--
"Begone instantly.... I have no time to say more. To morrow, at ten
o'clock, in the church of San Isidro. For Heaven's sake begone! your
life is at stake."
"Thank you, my good man," said Andres, putting a real into the sereno's
hand, "you may go."
The street was quite deserted, and Andres was walking slowly away, when
the apparition of a man, wrapped in a cloak, beneath which the handle of
a guitar formed an acute angle, excited his curiosity, and he stepped
into the dark shadow of a low archway. The man threw back the folds of
his cloak, brought his guitar forward, and began that monotonous
thrumming which serves as accompaniment to serenades and seguidillas.
The object of this prelude evidently was to awaken the lady in whose
honour it was perpetrated; but Militona's window continued closed and
dark; and at last the man, compelled to content himself with an
invisible auditory,--in spite of the Spanish proverb, which says, no
woman sleeps so soundly that the twang of a guitar will not bring her to
the window,--began to sing in a strong Andalusian accent. The serenade
consisted of a dozen verses, in which the singer celebrated the charms
of a cruel mistress, vowed inextinguishable love, and denounced fearful
vengeance upon all rivals. The menaces, however, were far more abundant,
in this rude ditty, than the praises of beauty or protestations of
affection.
"_Caramba_!" thought Andres, when the song concluded, "what ferocious
poetry! Nothing tame about those couplets. Let us see if Militona is
touched by the savage strain. This must be the terrible lover by whom
she is so frightened. She might be alarmed at less."
Don Andres advanced his head a little; a moonbeam fell upon it, and
Juancho's quick eye detected him. "Good!" said Andres to himself, "I am
caught. Now then, cool and steady."
Juancho threw down his guitar, w
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