When, half-way, we stopped to change horses, the old man, who had been pleasantly interested in the feminine gossip, stepped lightly out, and returning with a large tin mug of water, handed it round. It was the pretty girl who, when it came to her turn to drink, gracefully declined the privilege in favour of me, saying, with a wave of her hand, "Ah, no! The señora first."
The way was wild and romantic. Only at long intervals was there a house even by the road-side. Just at dusk we passed several open carts crowded with young olive-gatherers returning from work—a gay band, shouting and singing. After that the night appeared to fall suddenly upon the earth, and the new moon, a bright star poised above her, shone in the sky.
A second diligence, starting from some other point, had joined us; and as we moved slowly along in company, the two lumbering heavily-laden coaches and the covered van, the little procession had something of the aspect of a party of emigrants travelling in quest of a new home.
When the mysterious beauty of the half-lights had vanished, and the night gathered, we began to wonder why we had left the Casa Tranquila, where we had been so comfortable. We had no special reason for coming to Andraitx; there was no attraction to draw us thither. And even now we did not know if there was any place where we might sleep.
Just before we entered the town the coach stopped a moment and the Boy came round to the door.
"I've been consulting the driver," he said. "He recommends a place where he says we'll get the best cooking in Andraitx."
"Is it an inn?" we asked.
"No, I don't think it's exactly an inn, but the man has been a cook. His house is at this end of the town. The driver says he'll stop there if we like. Will that do?"
It was quite dark now. We were cramped and tired, and the refuge that wasn't exactly an inn was at least near. We agreed that it would do.