“Was your course a wise one?”
“It may have been wise, your worship, and yet it may not. For upon bringing his mind to bear upon the subject, he said he had decided to curtail his visit by ten days; but as he is lying upon me still, it appears uncommonly like it that honest Pedro has had dealings with a villain.”
“That is as may be,” said I; “but the good Don Ygnacio de Sarda y Boegas, who died a week ago of the stone, would have no man judged harshly until his conduct had been carefully weighed.”
“If Don Ygnacio was as good as you say, I expect he never had the Devil in person cooling his porridge at the side of his chimney.”
“No, by my faith. But are you not calling this unlucky individual out of his true character?”
“Well, your worship, it is like this, do you see,” said the innkeeper humbly; “poor Pedro once had the misfortune to steal a horse.”
“You stole a horse, and yet you were not hanged!”
“No, your worship; they hanged my poor son in error. But perchance, if I unload my breast of this misfortune, it may please the Virgin Mary to lessen my afflictions.”
“If you are a wise man you will also burn a candle or two. But, innkeeper, I will enter this venta of yours and speak with your guest, whoever he may be. For myself, I don’t put much faith in the black arts.”
I confess that our discussion of these unnatural affairs had provoked strange feelings. But I spoke as boldly as I could, and laid my hand on the hilt of my sword with so much determination that the poor wight of an innkeeper fell into a violent trembling.