A Challenge in a Church.
While carrying on my eye-courtship with the kneeling devotee, I stood somewhat in shadow. A column, with the statue of some canonised churchman, afforded me a niche where I was concealed from the other worshippers.
But there was a darker shadow behind me—occupied by a darker substance.
Tia Josefa was not the only spy present in the Cathedral.
I was made aware of it, by hearing a voice—of course spoken in a whisper, but so close to my ear, that I had no difficulty in distinguishing every word.
The voice said:—
“Por Dios, caballero! You appear greatly interested in the oracion! You cannot be a heretico, like the rest of your countrymen?”
The sting of a wasp could not have caused me a more unpleasant sensation. The double meaning of the speech was not to be mistaken. The speaker had observed the eye signals passing between Mercedes and myself!
I glanced into the gloom behind me.
It was some seconds before I could see any one. My eyes dazzled with the splendour of the church adornments, refused to do their office.