"It is just as you say, and a most noble girl she is, asking pardon for speaking so light of one of her high rank. Time and again, since that day, hath the young count told me, that the arrows came in such clouds, that his honor might have been tarnished by a retreat, or his life been lost, but for the timely resolution of the Doña Ozema. She is a rare creature, Señorita, and you will love her as a sister, when you come to see and know her."
"Sancho," said our heroine, blushing like the dawn, "thou saidst that the Conde de Llera bade thee speak of him to his aunt; did he mention no one else?"
"No one, Señorita."
"Art certain, Sancho? Bethink thee well—did he mention no other name to thee?"
"Not that I can swear. It is true, that either he or old Diego, the helmsman, spoke of one Clara that keepeth an hosteria, here in Barcelona, as a place famous for its wine; but I think it more likely to have been Diego than the count, as one thinketh much of these matters, and the other would not be apt to know aught of Clara."
"Thou canst retire, Sancho," said Mercedes, in a faint voice. "We will say more to thee in the morning."
Sancho was not sorry to be dismissed, and he gladly returned to his pallet, little dreaming of the mischief he had done by the mixture of truth and exaggeration that he had been recounting.
CHAPTER XXVII.
"Mac-Homer, too, in prose or song,
By the state-papers of Buffon,
To deep researches led;
A Gallo-Celtic scheme may botch,
To prove the Ourang race were Scotch,
Who from the Highlands fled."