e no mistake when they come for such as him. I
wish his poor mother could see it in that light."

"Give her time, give her time," returned the hunchback. "If you lost
your leg, you would not all at once grow reconciled to a wooden one.
Nature doesn't work in spasms, Miguella.

[Illustration: BARCELONA.]

By-and-by, the poor mother will come to see mercy in the blow, but she
can't do that whilst the sound of her boy's voice rings in her ears, and
she still feels the clasp of his arms round her neck. She wouldn't be a
mother if she did."

Time was on the wing. The sun was declining, the shadows were
lengthening when we turned from the ruins and once more stood outside
the walls. Miguella locked the doors with a firm hand and possessed
herself of the keys. We took care the bribe should not be halved. It was
a gala day for them, poor creatures. Juan's face lighted up with
infinite contentment.

"Lucky for me that I came up weeding, senor. For a whole week I need
feel no hunger, and may give my poor body a little repose."

"But life is not quite such hard lines with you, Miguella?"

"Not quite, senor, though hard enough. Yet I have many mercies. I earn a
little money by making cheeses; and in summer, when visitors now and
then come to Murviedro, I take a trifle and put by a peseta for a rainy
day. Heaven be praised I have never been in actual want; and Juan knows
that he has never in vain asked me to lend him a centimo. Though I find
his accounts very long reckonings," she quaintly added with a smile.

"Miguella, you have been as good as a mother to me," returned Juan. "I
never knew any other mother; have ever been a waif on the earth, without
kith and kin either to bless or ban."

We all went down the rugged steep together. At the bottom, Juan bade us
farewell and turned to the left towards his humble cottage. Miguella
escorted us up the quaint, quiet street. We passed through a picturesque
gateway, and just beyond this was her small house.

"Senor, if you would allow me to make you some coffee to refresh you for
your journey, I should be happy," she said. "I am famous both for my
cheese and my coffee."

To refuse would give her pain; the train was not due for an hour and a
half; a cup of Miguella's coffee was not to be despised. She turned with
a glad smile, opened her door, and invited us to enter.

It was a surprise to find her cottage the perfection of order, for the
Spaniards are not famous for the virtue