“I am he whom you seek,” said I; “where is Antonio?”
“Curelando, curelando; baribustres curelós terela,” [115] said the crone. “Come with me, Caloró of my garlochin, come with me to my little ker; he will be there anon.”
I followed the crone, who led the way into the town, which was ruinous and seemingly half deserted; we went up the street, from which she turned into a narrow and dark lane, and presently opened the gate of a large dilapidated house. “Come in,” said she.
“And the gras?” I demanded.
“Bring the gras in too, my chabó, bring the gras in too; there is room for the gras in my little stable.” We entered a large court, across which we proceeded till we came to a wide doorway. “Go in, my child of Egypt,” said the hag—“go in; that is my little stable.”
“The place is as dark as pitch,” said I, “and may be a well for what I know: bring a light, or I will not enter.”
“Give me the solabarri,” said the hag, “and I will lead your horse in, my chabó of Egypt—yes, and tether him to my little manger.” She led the horse through the doorway, and I heard her busy in the darkness; presently the horse shook himself: “Grasti terelamos,” [116] said the hag, who now made her appearance with the bridle in her hand; “the horse has shaken himself, he is not harmed by his day’s journey; now let us go in, my Caloró, into my little room.”
We entered the house, and found ourselves in a vast room, which would have been quite dark but for a faint glow which appeared at the farther end: it proceeded from a brasero, beside which were squatted two dusky figures.
“These are Callees,” said the hag; “one is my daughter, and the other is her chabí. Sit down, my London Caloró, and let us hear you speak.”
I looked about for a chair, but could see none; at a short distance, however, I perceived the end of a broken pillar lying on the floor; this I rolled to the brasero, and sat down upon it.