A big purple butterfly circled through the sunshine and fluttered a moment above the spilled wine upon the table; then it vanished into the dark. The Priest watched it and then glanced up.
“The maid––what part does she play?”
“She is under some strange spell the man has cast over her, I think, for she has been led to believe the wildest sort of a yarn––a tale that her father, long missing, is somewhere about these mountains.”
“Her father––missing?” repeated the Priest, his face clouding uneasily.
“The girl loved him as a comrade as well as a father. The two were alone and very much together. He was a captain, and some fifteen years ago disappeared. It was thought that he sailed for some port along the western coast, but he never came back. In time the report came that he was dead, though this was never proven.”
The Priest rubbed a brown skinny hand over his eyes.
“But the maid did not believe the rumor?” he asked.
“No––she did not believe.”
Wilson did not dare tell him of the crystal gazing for fear that the Priest might jump to the conclusion that it was this power Sorez was using and so would associate the girl too closely with the treasure hunt. Yet he wished to tell him enough to protect the girl from any scheme of vengeance this man might be planning against Sorez himself.