"Farewell, my little Bautista," said Montoro; "I shall pray for our future meeting."
"Nay," said the child hurriedly, and with a frightened look round, "do not that, Señor. I love you, you have been good to me, and so I pray the Virgin to grant we may not meet again."
Montoro opened his eyes wide.
"How so, little man? Love me, and yet pray that we may not again cross each other's paths? How is that, tell me?"
But the boy shook his head, and began to tremble violently.
"Do not ask me," he muttered with white lips; "they will kill me. Only keep away from us. They do not know I have heard——"
"Ha!" exclaimed Montoro, a look of intelligence now taking the place of bewilderment. Then he stooped and kissed the child's forehead, as he said in low tones, "Blessings on thee for thy true heart, my little lad, and my thanks. May the Lord have thee in His keeping, and guard thy hands from sin."
And so they parted, each, as poor little Bautista fondly thought, to go widely different ways, but in reality to take two routes leading to the same goal.
For the first two days' journey inland the party to which Montoro joined himself was a particularly strong one, too strong for the three gamblers to care to meddle with; accordingly they withdrew themselves from notice, until the travelling company was reduced to Montoro himself, Master Sancho and his thick-headed attendant, and a couple of poor-spirited merchants, who would have rather hidden themselves in their bales at the appearance of danger, than tried to defend them. But then—there was Don.
The third day was drawing to a close, when Diego and his companions reached a wretched little inn, the worst on their route, and with considerable grumbling on the part of comfort-loving Master Sancho, they put up there for the night. To make matters worse, the amount of available accommodation was even less than usual, for another party of travellers had arrived before them, and taken the chief and largest room.