I had not gone far when I met Tim, who, ever careful about my safety, had followed me.
“Hurrah! shure, it’s all right if it’s the Padre Pacheco,” he exclaimed. “I know his riverence well, and there isn’t a praste like him in all the country round; though, to tell you the truth, Misther Barry, he isn’t much in favour with the Spaniards or monks up in the towns, for he’s a mighty great Liberal, and is as ready to fight as to pray for the cause of the Republicans.”
Tim gave me this information as we were making our way back to where we had left my uncle and the mules. We were not long in saddling the animals and replacing their packs; and by the time we got back to the padre’s bathing-place we found him standing ready to receive us, clothed in dry garments. He greeted my uncle as cordially as he had done me; and taking our arms,—two of the Indians with torches leading the way,—we proceeded by a path through the forest to his house, which stood on a slight elevation above the river. It was a thatched one-storied building, with a walled-in courtyard on one side, and surrounded by a garden of considerable extent, as far as I could judge by the torchlight.
He at once ushered us into a good-sized room, furnished with a large table and benches, and a ponderous arm-chair at one end. The table was covered with various substantial viands, as well as delicacies and fruits of all sorts, showing that the padre was given to hospitality, and that he was at all times prepared for the unexpected arrival of guests.
“I sent up to order supper to be got ready for you, and I see that my people have not been dilatory,” he observed as we entered the room. “Perhaps we shall have other guests, and I only hope they may be such as we desire to see. Sometimes the Spaniards come this way, and I am compelled, though much against the grain, to be civil to them. However, before you sit down, you may desire to wash the dust off your hands and faces; and if you will accompany me, I will show you where you can do so.—Here, Candela, bring a torch, and towels for the caballeros.”
As he spoke, an intelligent-looking black servant led the way into the courtyard, where we saw a fountain falling into a stone basin, the water afterwards serving to irrigate the garden. We quickly performed our ablutions, especially refreshing after the heat of the day, and then returned with the padre into the supper-room. We were on the point of sitting down, when the sound of horses’ hoofs coming along the path from the southward reached our ears.
“Grant Heaven that they are friends!” said the padre, looking grave. “Should they be Royalists, you will guide your conversation accordingly, Señor Concannan,” he observed.—“Here, Candela, go out and welcome the cavaliers, whoever they may be.”
The black, relighting his torch, hurried out; and soon we heard his voice calling to the other servants to hold the cavaliers’ horses, and in a loud voice welcoming the travellers. One of them spoke a few words in return, whereupon the padre started up and rushed out to the front of the house. I followed him, and saw him clasping the hand of a tall cavalier, who had just dismounted from a powerful horse, which one of the servants was holding. On another steed of more delicate proportions sat a lady, who, as the light of the torch fell on her countenance, appeared to be young and unusually beautiful. At the same moment several other persons came up; and the tall cavalier having now assisted the lady to dismount, advanced towards the house—the rest of the party, throwing themselves from their horses, following.
On entering, the cavalier cast a suspicious glance at my uncle and me.
“Who are these?” he asked of Padre Pacheco in a low voice.