Necessity made Uncle Paul, Arthur, and me live, during the weekdays, in the town, but we returned home every Saturday, where we received an affectionate welcome from my mother and Marian. It was, consequently, not remarked in the town that we did not attend mass; and as our house was at some distance from any church, we had a sufficient excuse for not going to one on the Sunday. We were aware, however, that the Inquisition existed in the island, though we could not ascertain who were the persons immediately connected with it. There were, we observed, in proportion to the population, a very large number of priests and friars, some of whom were constantly visiting the houses in the town and neighbourhood; but as we left our lodging at an early hour every day for the counting-house, and seldom returned till late in the evening, we had not hitherto been interfered with.
One Saturday evening we were returning homeward, when we overtook a friar ambling along on his mule. We saluted him in the customary fashion, and were passing on, when he stopped Uncle Paul by asking a question which took some time to answer. The friar then, urging on his beast, kept pace with us. Arthur and I had dropped a little behind, so that we could only partly hear what was said, but enough of the conversation reached us to let us know that the friar was talking about religious matters, and was apparently endeavouring to draw out our uncle’s opinions. He was always frank and truthful, so we knew that he would find it a difficult task to parry the friar’s questions.
“I feel almost certain that the friar knew we should pass this way, and came on purpose to fall in with us,” observed Arthur. “I wish that Uncle Paul had galloped on without answering him. I don’t like the tone of his voice, though he smiles, and speaks so softly.”
“Nor do I,” I replied. “I only hope that he won’t come and talk with us.”
“If he does, we must give him short answers, and say that the matter is too deep for us,” observed Arthur. “We may perhaps puzzle him slightly, and at the worst make him suppose that we are very ill informed on religious matters; but we must be cautious what we say.”
Uncle Paul had from the first been endeavouring in vain to get ahead of the friar without appearing rude, but he did not succeed till the latter had got out of him all the information he wanted. The friar then allowed his mule to drop in between us, and at once addressed Arthur in a friendly way—inquiring of him how often he had attended mass since his arrival, and who was his father confessor. Arthur replied that, as he spent every Sunday in the country, and was occupied the whole of each weekday in business, he had to confess that he had not paid due attention to such matters.
“And you,” said the friar to me,—“are you equally careless?”
“I hope that I am not careless,” I answered; “but we Englishmen are not brought up exactly like Spaniards, and consequently you may not understand us clearly.”
“All true Catholics are the same,” remarked the friar. “You may expect a visit before long from the Superior of my Order to inquire into your religious condition, which appears to me unsatisfactory. Good-day, young gentlemen; I cannot give you my blessing till I know more about you.”
Bowing to the friar, who, having gained all the information he required, now reined in his mule, we rode on to rejoin Uncle Paul. Arthur laughed. “I think we have somewhat puzzled the old fellow,” he observed.