"Pig," she said.
A snore was strangled at its birth, and Pieto sat up, rubbing his eyes.
"I've been asleep," he said, as though the fact were one that called for amazement.
"You've been drunk, you mean. Get out to the yard, man, and to the pump, and go and lie down on the bed up-stairs. A nice thing," she went on, "if our visitor arrives and those who bring her find you like this. I still have work to do."
The old man looked sullen but did not answer. He ran his tongue round his parched mouth and did as he was bid, while his wife, upon whom this unwonted night-work seemed to have little or no effect, busied herself in the kitchen.
It was about mid-day when a cautious tap at the window brought her hastily to the front of the building. Lieutenant Mozara, his face white and drawn, stood leaning against one of the stone pillars that supported the portico.
"Is all ready? Where's Pieto?"
Murmuring some answer, Teresa ran back into the house, and in a moment returned with her husband. He was but half-awake, but at the sight of the lieutenant he pulled himself together. He saluted the officer, and together the two men ran through the belt of woodland which lay between the house and the road.
Gaspar had done his work well. The figure of Galva Baxendale lay stretched out on the little ribbon of grass that ran beside the road. The car stood vibrating beside her, and with an oath Gaspar ran to it and shut off the engine. Then without further delay the men lifted the unconscious girl and made their way back to the house.
The lieutenant waited only long enough to drain the glass of wine Teresa had poured out for him. His hand shook so that the liquor splashed upon the door-stone, and the glass rattled against his teeth as he drank.