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, señor. 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, señor, 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.
"Señor, 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."