‘Ah!’ And the grim face relaxed into a smile. ‘Lost your way?’
‘Yes.’
‘Then it is lucky that I have met you. It is so easy to lose one’s way—when one is young.’
He raised his hand to the horse’s bridle.
‘You are most certainly going in the wrong direction,’ he said; ‘I will lead you right.’
It was said and done so quietly that Conyngham had found no word to say before his horse was moving in the opposite direction.
‘This is surely one of General Vincente’s horses,’ said the priest; ‘we have few such barbs in Ronda. He always rides a good horse, that Miguel Vincente.’
‘Yes, it is one of his horses. Then you know the General?’
‘We were boys together,’ answered the Padre; ‘and there were some who said that he should have been the priest and I the soldier.’
The old man gave a little laugh.