Benito looked at her with increasing awe.
"Obey my behests, on the other hand, and I will reward you. Ask any favour! Money?"—she quickly took out a little purse and handed him a ten-pound note—"here is an earnest of what I will give you. Interest? Do you want the good-will of the authorities—a snug appointment in the Custom-house, or under the police? They are yours."
"I am your slave; I will do your bidding, and ask nothing in return but your approval."
"Nothing! You grow singularly self-denying, Señor Benito."
"The señora will really help me?" said Benito, now cringing and obsequious. "One small favour, then. I am tired of this wandering life. Here to-day in Cadiz; Ronda, Malaga, to-morrow. At everybody's beck and call—never my own master, not for an hour. I want to settle down."
"To marry?" inquired Mrs. Wilders, contemptuously. "In your own station? That is better."
"I have not forgotten you, señora. But the wound was beginning to heal—"
She held up her hand with a menacing gesture.
"I will not deny that I have cast my eyes upon a maiden that pleases me," Benito confessed. "I have known her from childhood. Her friends approve of my suit, and would accept me; but what lot can I offer a wife?"
"Well, how is it to be mended?"