"But what has poor San Roque done to her. I thought him a very amiable saint," said Anita.
"He is all that," returned Rodrigo. "It is but a prejudice, a jealous prejudice. You will see why this is so when you talk to this Pilar. She is one who will not yield an opinion once it is lodged in that narrow mind of hers."
They stood watching the procession wind around the church which had stood for ten centuries looking over the sea, had witnessed the union of Leon and Castile, the birth of the Cid, the expulsion of the Moors, its gray walls enshrining many a memory, viewing many such a fiesta.
"This northern Spain does not change as other places," Rodrigo continued. "Here we keep the old customs. This religious dance which you behold is so old that it is called the danza prima—the first dance. One cannot say where it first originated. There are others, too, which are handed down from generation to generation and are taught by one who has learned it from some ancient who, in turn, has been taught by his predecessor. Oh, yes, my cousin, Spain has a history. She is old, very old."
"You will like to look at the inside of the church, perhaps," said Amparo, "so ancient it is."
They went in to see a low, dark interior whose antique beams were blackened by time, whose gallery showed grotesque gargoyles, whose chancel displayed carven figures which might have found their origin in some heathen temple. It was almost deserted, though candles still blazed at the altars and a few kneeling figures bowed before certain favorite shrines. A small balcony, screened from the too prying eye, was reached from the old monastery and was set apart in the old days for the use of the nuns whose convent once was near.
Out again into the sparkling air to see the end of the ceremonies and then to find a nook among the rocks close to the sea where they could eat their picnic luncheon unmolested. Others from a distance were doing the same, and not far off sat Pilar with two friends.
"We will go and speak to her presently," whispered Doña Benilda to Mrs. Beltrán. "Perhaps it would be best that I go alone. What do you think, Prudencia?"
"It would be better," Doña Prudencia agreed. "Pilar is not an approachable person. Explanations should come before Catalina is made known to her, and it will be better that you should speak than that I should, for Pilar has no love for me."
Doña Benilda gathered her enveloping veil around her and walked over to where Pilar was seated. The others, looking on interestedly, observed that an animated conversation was taking place. Each gesticulated magnificently; voices rose excitedly.