JUANITO.
[In a whisper to himself.] But my lord is rapt!
How still the Spanish boy,
His black hair shining and his ears with edges
Of the clear ruddiness of pomegranates,
The light of sunset is so shed on him.
[He waits till Garcia has locked the door on the inside, then steals towards him.
GARCIA.
Be swift!
Hush, lay them in the chest beneath your clothes.
They are good—they will be faithful to the Duke....
Christ grant his other means be safe as these!
Will he not turn?
Though of a different race,
This lord, who is so reverend and so dreadful,
Is homely and most courteous to the poor.
I would not have you trouble him.
JUANITO.
Garcia, I dare not
Utter your coming since he misses it.
With widely-open nostrils and great eyes,
He hangs above the gulf.
GARCIA.
Tell him, Juanito,
One night when he is out of Spain in safety,
I went to San Lorenzo, for his sake,
To pray the Saints would bear him in their hands.
Cover the rope!
A trumpet will be blown
Down in the fosse, when Don Rodrigo’s men
Are ready with the horses. All my life
Is in to-night if he is saved. Farewell! [Exit.
[Juanito hides the rope and sits on the chest in the last red of the sunset, singing to himself.