‘So you have come, my son,’ he said, shaking hands. He looked up into the Englishman’s face, which was burnt brown by service under a merciless sun. Conyngham looked lean and strong, but his eyes had no rest in them. This was not a man who had all he wanted.
‘Are you come to Ronda, or are you passing through?’ asked the priest.
‘To Ronda. As I passed the Casa Barenna I made inquiries. The ladies are in the town, it appears.’
‘Yes; they are with Estella in the house you know—unless you have forgotten it.’
‘No,’ answered Conyngham getting out of the saddle. ‘No; I have forgotten nothing.’
Concepçion came forward and led the horse away.
‘I will walk to the Casa Vincente. Have you the time to accompany me?’ said Conyngham.
‘I have always time—for my neighbour’s business,’ replied Concha. And they set off together.
‘You walk stiffly,’ said Concha. ‘Have you ridden far?’
‘From Osuna—forty miles since daybreak.’