The tumult we had heard arose when the Lugareños suddenly fell upon the sentry, and wrenched his musket from him.
This man, when disarmed, ran away. I saw him running across the patio, on the crimson pathway, to the foot of the staircase. His shouting, “The Lugareños have risen!” broke upon the hush of mourning. Father Antonio made a brusque movement, and Seraphina sent a startled glance in my direction.
The cloistered court, with its marble basin and a jet of water in the centre, remained empty for a moment after the negro had run across; a growing clamour penetrated into it. In the midst of it I heard O’Brien’s voice saying, “Why don’t they shut the gate?” Immediately afterwards a woman in the gallery cried out in surprise, and I saw the Lugareños pour into the patio.
For a time that motley group of bandits stood in the light, as if intimidated by the great dignity of the house, by the mysterious prestige of the Casa whose interior, probably, none of them had ever seen before. They gazed about silently, as if surprised to find themselves there.
It looked as if they would have retired if they had not caught sight of me. A murmur of “the Inglez” arose at once. By that time the household negroes had occupied the staircase with what weapons they could find upstairs.
Father Antonio pushed past O’Brien out of the room, and shook his arms over the balustrade.
“Impious men,” he cried, “begone from this house of death.” His eyes flashed at the ruffians, who stared stupidly from below.
“Give us the Inglez,” they growled. Seraphina, from within, cried, “Juan.” I was then near the door, but not within the room.
“The Inglez! The heretic! The traitor!” came in sullen, subdued mutter. A hoarse, reckless voice shouted, “Give him to us, and we shall go!”
“You are putting in danger all the lives in this house!” O’Brien hissed at me. “Señorita, pray do not.” He stood in the way of Seraphina, who wished to come out.