The new-comer, for all his self-control, gave a start of painful surprise.
“Is that your grandfather?” he asked Rodrigo.
“Ay, sir, to be sure it is, and a grandfather as good as bread,” answered the lad, with a sensitive flush, while, stooping quickly, he fairly lifted the light, swaying figure to its feet.
“Never mind the oranges now, Grandfather,” he said brightly. “See! We have an honored guest.”
The old man turned a dazed look upon his son-in-law.
“I am at your feet, sir,” he quavered, in the courteous phrase of Andalusia. “The house is yours.”
“But surely you know me,—Catalina’s husband,” pleaded the stranger, opening his arms.
The old man nodded many times, but drew back from the embrace.
“You are the young man from Saragossa who would wed my daughter Catalina,” he answered slowly. “She is away just now—I forget where—but when she comes home again, we will talk of these things.” Then, moving his fingers as if he were touching the strings of a guitar, he began to sing softly:
“Going and coming,
I lost my heart one day.
Love came to me laughing;
In tears Love went away.”