"Who are you?" he gasped, in uncertain English.
Believing himself the subject of some drunkard's pastime, Guest replied, savagely, "One who has enough of this d—d nonsense, and will stand no more of it from any one, young or old," and turned abruptly on his heel.
"Stay, one moment, Senor, for the love of God!"
Some keen accent of agony in the old man's voice touched even Guest's selfish nature. He halted.
"You are—a stranger here?"—faltered Pereo. "Yes?"
"I am."
"You do not live here?—you have no friends?"
"I told you I am a stranger. I never was here before in my life," said Guest, impatiently.
"True; I am a fool," said the old man, hurriedly, to himself. "I am mad—mad! It is not HIS voice. No! It is not HIS look, now that his face changes. I am crazy." He stopped, and passed his trembling hands across his eyes. "Pardon, Senor," he continued, recalling himself with a humility that was almost ironical in its extravagance. "Pardon, pardon! Yet, perhaps it is not too much to have wanted to know who was the man one has saved."
"Saved!" repeated Guest, with incredulous contempt.