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Updated: June 24, 2025
He went from one passenger to another, sadly shaking them by the hand, often taking leave and seeming loth to depart, until Captain Cooper, in a stern but respectful tone, touched him on the shoulder, and said, I know not with what correctness, being ignorant of the Spanish language, "Senor 'Bispo!
"And is that so? Well, well! Of course it's not so very far from your place at Bispo." "Not more than half-a-league, I should say." "Just so," said O'Moy. "Half-a-league there, and half-a-league back: a league. It's nothing at all, of course; yet for a gentleman who detests walking it's a devilish long tramp for nothing." "For nothing?" Samoval checked and looked at his host in faint surprise.
And because he did not trust Samoval he added, as Samoval himself had almost reckoned: "But I should prefer not to come to Bispo. I might be seen going or returning." "Since there are no such scruples on my side, I am ready to come to you here if you prefer it." "It would suit me better."
Senor 'Bispo!" on which summons the poor old man, looking ruefully round him once more, put his square cap under his arm, tucked up his long black petticoats, so as to show his purple stockings and jolly fat calves, and went trembling down the steps towards the boat. The good old man! I wish I had had a shake of that trembling podgy hand somehow before he went upon his sea martyrdom.
So by walking every step of the way, he believed that he had reached the depot unnoticed, just when daylight was upon him with gray wreaths of fog. By the depot clock it was five minutes to five. A train was being called, and the sing-song chant informed him that it was bound for "Sa-anta Bar-bra Sa-an Louis Oh bispo Sa-linas Sa-an 'Osay Sa-an Fransisco, and a-a-ll points north!"
"And is it like that?" cried O'Moy, his countenance inflaming again, his mind casting all prudence to the winds. It followed, of course, that without further thought for anything but the satisfaction of his rage Sir Terence became as wax in the hands of Samoval's desires. "Where do you suggest that we meet?" he asked. "There is my place at Bispo. We should be private in the gardens there.
The words were mechanical. The dark eyes continued to scrutinise that bronzed face suspiciously. "I do, and it's sorry I am to see it. But I know what it is. It's this walking backwards and forwards between here and Bispo that's doing the mischief. Better give it up, Count. Better not come toiling up here any more. It's not good for your health. Why, man, ye're as white as a ghost this minute."
So I am not mistaken in seeking him here. I have had him under very close observation during the past day or two, and when one of my men brought me word tonight that he had left his place at Bispo on foot and alone, going along the upper Alcantara road, If had a notion that he might be coming to Monsanto and I followed. But I hardly expected to find this. How has it happened?"
It is broken by the Ponta da Oliveira, where there is ne'er an olive-tree, and by the grim ravine of Porto de Canico o Bispo, the 'bishop' being a basaltic pillar with mitre and pontifical robes sitting in a cave of the same material.
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