We answered affirmatively, and inquired what our country had to do with our being refused admittance?
“Everything,” remarked Salvador. He then proceeded to establish the truth of his assertion by a variety of distorted and disjointed fragments of an adventure, which the labour of our ingenious cross-questioning managed to put together in the following form.
“About ten years ago,” said Salvador, “I returned to Goa with my master, Lieut. ⸺, of the — Regt., a very clever gentleman, who knew everything. He could talk to each man of a multitude in his own language, and all of them would appear equally surprised by, and delighted with him. Besides, his faith was every man’s faith. In a certain Mussulmanee country he married a girl, and divorced her a week afterwards. Moreover, he chaunted the Koran, and the circumcised dogs considered him a kind of saint. The Hindoos also respected him, because he always eat his beef in secret, spoke religiously of the cow, and had a devil, (i.e., some heathen image) in an inner room. At Cochin he went to the Jewish place of worship, and read a large book, just like a priest. Ah! he was a clever Sahib that! he could send away a rampant and raging creditor playful as a little goat, and borrow more money from Parsees at less interest than was ever paid or promised by any other gentleman in the world.
“At last my master came to Goa, where of course he became so pious a Christian that he kept a priest in the house—to perfect him in Portuguese—and attended mass once a day. And when we went to see the old city, such were the fervency of his lamentations over the ruins of the Inquisition, and the frequency of his dinners to the Padre of Saint Francis, that the simple old gentleman half canonized him in his heart. But I guessed that some trick was at hand, when a pattimar, hired for a month, came and lay off the wharf stairs, close to where the Sahib is now sitting; and presently it appeared that my officer had indeed been cooking a pretty kettle of fish!
“My master had been spending his leisure hours with the Prioress of Santa Monaca, who—good lady—when informed by him that his sister, a young English girl, was only waiting till a good comfortable quiet nunnery could be found for her, not only showed her new friend about the cloisters and dormitories, but even introduced him to some of the nuns. Edifying it must have been to see his meek countenance as he detailed to the Madres his well-digested plans for the future welfare of that apocryphal little child, accompanied with a thousand queries concerning the style of living, the moral and religious education, the order and the discipline of the convent. The Prioress desired nothing more than to have an English girl in her house—except, perhaps, the monthly allowance of a hundred rupees which the affectionate brother insisted upon making to her.
“You must know, Sahib, that the madres are, generally speaking, by no means good-looking. They wear ugly white clothes, and cut their hair short, like a man’s. But, the Latin professor—”
“The who?”
“The Latin professor, who taught the novices and the younger nuns learning, was a very pretty white girl, with large black eyes, a modest smile, and a darling of a figure. As soon as I saw that Latin professor’s face, I understood the whole nature and disposition of the affair.
“My master at first met with some difficulty, because the professor did not dare to look at him, and, besides, was always accompanied by an elder sister.”