In the faint light he made out José faithfully crouching in the place which had been appointed him. By his side lay an old ramrod and a mallet. In the mortar between the granite blocks of the wall were the holes which Antonio and young Crowberry had bored in the night. Their measurements were so exact that José's ramrod had easily struck out the azulejos the moment he heard the preconcerted signals of "Look out!" and "Take care of your skulls!"
"Did I do right, your Worship, in knocking over that skriking saw as well?" asked José.
"You did right," said Antonio quickly. "We have won; and now we must care for the enemy's wounded. Sir Percy has burned his hand with acid. Run to the farm. Open the green box. Bring back the yellow ointment as fast as your legs can carry you."
José raced off, hiding ramrod and mallet under his coat. Hardly had he vanished before it flashed across Antonio's mind that some virtue might remain in the drugs which the Cellarer had left behind four years before. He found the cupboard, smashed it open, and ran back to the chapel with oil, lint, ointment, and a cordial.
When José reappeared he was just in time to take a hand with Antonio and Jackson in carrying Sir Percy back to the guest-house. Young Crowberry had ridden off for the Navares doctor. In the baronet's comfortless room the monk lavished all his leech-craft; and soon, under the sway of a strong draught, the sufferer fell asleep.
Isabel accompanied Antonio to the door. He cut short her thanks, and was hurrying away homeward after José, when he heard her light step behind him. She had something to say; but her courage failed her and she did not say it.
"There is something else that I can do?" asked the monk.
"Yes," she answered, with a great effort. "You can ... you can promise..."
"I can promise ... what?"
Isabel blushed furiously.