ise have been so ugly, and by its aid was made so
beautiful. He raised his eyes and came down upon us as an eagle to its
prey.

"You are here!" he cried. "I have been wondering all the morning why I
did not come across you, in what ancient nook you had buried yourselves.
I was now on my way to your hotel to ask whether you had departed to
other fields, and to find out why you did not come to me last night.
To-night I shall make sure of you. You shall dine with me--I will take
no refusal. For once the old priest's frugal fare must suffice you. It
shall be a fast-day. Abstinence from flesh-meat occasionally is good,
even for travellers. Tell me you will come. Do not pain me by refusing,
or make me guilty of pressing you too much. Juanita, my old housekeeper,
tells me she is quite equal to preparing you _un diner maigre_."

Pressure was not needed; we were too glad to accept the good priest's
invitation. He was given to hospitality in the best sense of the word,
and we readily promised to dine with him. For us, the diner maigre had
no terrors.

"That is good," he replied, in his rich round voice. "I shall expect you
at seven o'clock, though we shall not dine until eight. So you are still
lost in amazement at this architectural dream. The oftener you see it,
the more beautiful it becomes. With few interruptions I have looked upon
it daily for forty years, and every morning its charm seems new and
strange to me. Well, since I have seen you I shall not go to your hotel.
I have sundry visits to pay to poor sick folk. Until the infirmities of
old age become too strong for me I will not give them up. And before
that happens I trust a merciful Creator will remove me to scenes where
there is neither age nor infirmity nor sick poor in need of
consolation."

He hurried away, leaving us to the marvellous interior. We were glad to
go to the old canon's, and felt it would be our opportunity for laying
before him that interesting but unhappy case.

[Illustration: INTERIOR OF CATHEDRAL, SHOWING CORO AND ORGAN: ZARAGOZA.]

As the clock struck seven we rang the bell. The drooping handle was
in itself an object of art: a wonderful specimen of iron work cunningly
wrought. We were not privileged to use the hidden spring, which moreover
we could not discover. The bell was immediately answered by Juanita in
grey hair, placid face and black silk gown; a picture of high
respectability. She greeted us with a serene smile and assured us that