We felt that we were dismissed. I thanked the Abbess as best I could, in my halting Spanish, for her courtesy. She smiled a cold, holy smile; her last words were a benediction:
“Vayan Vds. con Dios!”
I had a glimpse of the little novice standing on tiptoe looking at Patsy over the Abbess’s shoulder, with round, bright eyes, then the black curtains drew noiselessly together, the stout red porteress shut the wooden lattice with a loud clang, and turned the protesting key in the lock. The cold beauty of the Abbess, the fresh comeliness of the novice, were hidden behind the triple barrier: curtain, lattice, and cruel iron bars in double rank. No outstretched hand from within that grating could ever touch another hand reaching to meet it from the other side.
“We shall come back to Ronda for the fair,” said Patsy, cheerfully, as he took leave of the Sibyl at the station. “If not this year, another year. The Abbess has invited us: mind that you are here to meet us at the train!”
The Sibyl smiled, a brave, old, withered smile, and waved her tiny, wrinkled hand:
“Hasta otra vista!”
She would do her best to keep the tryst!
III
THE WHITE VEIL
CONCEPCION sitting in the patio under a golden shower of yellow Bankshire roses! That was our first impression of Seville. Pemberton, tall and lean, stood beside her, nervously twirling his stick. We hurried down to the courtyard; introductions followed.
“Mes amigos, Concepcion. She doesn’t speak a word of English—all the better for your Spanish. She is Sevilliana born. We will do our best between us to show you the town in—how many days or hours do you mean to stay?”