verflowing. Their
spirits had not failed. As the train moved off they sent up a shout
which echoed and re-echoed in many a gorge and cleft. Presently, when
the stars had travelled onwards, we felt it was time to disappear from
the world for a season. We were taking a last look at the Gothic arches,
through which the sky and the stars shone with serene repose. The night
was solemn and impressive; a strange hush lay upon all. It might have
been a dead universe, only peopled by the spirits of the dead-and-gone
monks and hermits roaming the mountain ranges. Throughout the little
settlement not a soul crossed our path; doors and windows were closed;
here and there a light still glimmered. We caught sight of another
wandering light far up a mountain path, held by some one well acquainted
with his ground--perhaps a last surviving hermit taking his walks
abroad, or a monk contemplating death and eternity in this overwhelming
darkness. We wondered whether it was Salvador, our musical monk, seeking
fresh inspiration as he climbed nearer heaven.

As we passed out of the arches we came upon our funny little monk, who,
having ended all his duties, was going to his night's rest. He caught
sight of us and gave a brisk skip.

"Welcome to Montserrat," he cried once more. "I am delighted to see
you." From long habit he evidently used the form unconsciously--it was
his peculiar salutation. "You are about to retire, senor. Let me conduct
you to your rooms. I should like to see you comfortably settled for the
night."

From his tone and manner he might have been taking us to fairyland; beds
of rose-leaves; a palace fitted up with gold and silver, where jewels
threw out magic rays upon a perfumed atmosphere. He swung back the great
gates of the Hospederia. We passed into an atmosphere dark, chilling,
and certainly not perfumed. Mysterious echoes died away in distant
passages. The little monk lighted a lantern that stood ready in the
corridor, and weird shadows immediately danced about. One's flesh began
to creep, hair stood on end. In this huge building of a thousand rooms
we were to spend a solitary night. It was appalling. As the monk led the
way passages and staircases seemed endless: a labyrinth of bricks and
mortar. Should we survive it: or, surviving, find a way out again?

[Illustration: A FEW OF THE GIPSIES AT MONTSERRAT.]

At last our rooms. Small candles were lighted that made darkness
visible. We should manage to see the outli