“His trusted friend and major-domo,[8] Miguel Cardanza, at your service;” but the haughty salutation which accompanied these words evinced that such “service” would be grudgingly performed.
“When will your master return?”
“Señor, at his own good pleasure.”
“We will, I presume, await that season, trusting it will not long be postponed.”
“That is as may be. But I must, on his behalf, request you to leave Refugio immediately. Yes, yes, little one. I know you marvel to hear such rudeness from your Miguel’s lips. Yet I am right, yes. I know what I do. Well, Señor?”
“But Mr. Cardanza, I protest. Though he might not care to receive us I doubt if even your master would turn us adrift in this sparsely settled land. We have traveled many miles since daybreak, yet this is the first shelter we have seen.”
“Señor, you traveled in the wrong direction, that is all. There are settlements in plenty. That way, thus—” pointing toward the northeast—“lives a man who takes in pilgrims for a price. He is a hungry miner, and an hour’s ride will bring you to his shack. It is the only inn this side Lanark.”
Carlota had been a silent listener to this dialogue but she now interrupted it with:
“Miguel, you shall not send any weary man away. Even if he were—were the evil one, this was once God’s House, and it is still Refugio. Miguel Cardanza, I shall tell my father about you when he comes home. Oh! if he came now! What would he say to you but: ‘Good Miguel, hot-headed as ever?’ Oh! I know. I’ve heard him, often, often. Do be a nice old Miguel, do—”
The Spaniard flushed but caught the child’s hand and whispered in her ear. She listened with impatience, amazement, and, at last, with wild alarm. Then, darting one terrified glance toward the unfortunate Mr. Rupert, vanished from the cloister, shrieking, as she ran: