"Tempt me not," returned the monk. "Your voice would persuade me against my reason. I must not return to the sweets of the world even for an evening. Think of the going back afterwards. But to-morrow morning before dawn breaks in the east I will be with you."
He bade us farewell and closed the gate. We watched the solitary figure glide down the choir until it disappeared. The quiet footsteps ceased to echo, and we stood alone in the church. The silence was painful and the building had no power to charm. We passed out to the great quadrangle and soon found ourselves in a very different scene.
CHAPTER XVII.
SALVADOR THE MONK.
Gipsies—Picturesque scene—Love passages—H. C. invited to festive board—Saved by Lady Maria's astral visitation—The fortune-teller—H. C. yields to persuasion—Fate foretold—Warnings—Photograph solicited—Darkness and mystery—Night scene—Gipsies depart—Weird experiences—Troubled dreams—Mysterious sounds—Ghost appears—H. C. sleeps the sleep of the just—Egyptian darkness—In the cold morning—Salvador keeps his word—Breakfast by candlelight—Romantic scene—Salvador turns to the world—Agreeable companion—Musician's nature—Miguel and the mule—Leaving the world behind—Darkness flies—St. Michael's chapel—Sunrise and glory—Marvellous scene—Magic atmosphere—Salvador's ecstasy—Consents to take luncheon—Heavenly strains—"Not farewell"—Departs in solitary sadness—Last of the funny monk.
IT was the other end of the settlement. All the houses were behind us; the railway station was in a depression at our left. The plateau expanded, forming a small mountain refuge, sheltered and surrounded by great boulders that were a part of Mons Serratus towering beyond them. Grass and trees grew in soft luxuriance. Under their shadow a picnic party had encamped; noisy Spaniards who looked very much like gipsies; an incongruous element in these solemn solitudes, yet a very human scene. They were scattered about in groups, and the bright handkerchiefs of the women formed a strikingly picturesque bit of colouring. Baskets of rough provisions were abundant. A kettle hung on a tripod and a fire burnt beneath it, from which the blue smoke curled into the air and lost itself in the branches of the trees. The people were enjoying themselves to their hearts' content. Here and there a couple had hoisted a red or green umbrella, which afforded friendly opportunities for tender love passages. Some were drinking curiously out of jars with long spouts shaped like a tea-kettle. These they held up at arm's length and cleverly let the beverage pour into their mouths. Practice made perfect and nothing was wasted. Chatter and laughter never ceased. They were of humble rank, which ignores ceremony, and when H. C. approached rather nearly, he was at once invited to join their festive board and make one of themselves.
One handsome, dark-eyed maiden looked at him reproachfully as he declined the honour—the astral body of Lady Maria in her severest aspect having luckily presented itself to his startled vision. The siren had a wonderfully impressive language of the eyes, and it was evident that her hand and heart were at the disposal of this preux chevalier.
"Señor," she said, "I am a teller of fortunes. Show me your hand and I will prophecy yours."
H. C. obligingly held it out. She studied it intently for about half a minute, then raised her eyes—large languishing eyes—and seemed to search into the very depths of his.
"Señor, you are a great poet. Your line of imagination is strongly influenced by the line of music, so that your thoughts flow in rhyme. But the line of the head communicates with the line of the heart, and this runs up strongly into the mount of Venus. You have made many love vows and broken many hearts. You will do so again. You cannot help it. You are sincere for the moment, but your affections are like champagne. They fizz and froth and blaze up like a rocket, then pass away. You will not marry for many years. Then it will be a lady with a large fortune. She will not be beautiful. She will squint, and be a little lame, and have a slight hump—you cannot have everything—but she will be amiable and intellectual. I see here a rich relative, who is inclined in your favour. It is in her power to leave you wealth. Beware how you play your cards. I see by your hand that you just escape many good things by this fickle nature. I warn you against it, but might as well tell the wind not to blow. There is one thing, however, may save you—the stars were in happy conjunction at your birth. The influence of the house of Saturn does not affect you. I see little more at present. Much of your future depends on yourself. To you is given, more than to many, the controlling of your fate. You may make or mar your fortune. No, señor," as H. C. laughed and tried to glide a substantial coin into her hand, "I do not tell fortunes for money to-day. It is a festa with our tribe, almost a sacred day, the anniversary of a great historical event. To-day we do all for love; but I should much like your photograph."
