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The attendant, with an odd smile, procured the necessary articles, and when the Englishman was ready led the way downstairs. He was a solemn man from Galicia, this, where they do not smile. In the patio of the great house, once a monastery, now converted into a barrack for the Guardias Civiles, a small man of fifty years or more stood smoking a cigarette.
'Mother of God! these Guardias Civiles! The two guards came clambering down the face of the rock. Concepcion glanced at his late companion writhing in the sharpness of death. 'Here or at Ronda, to-day, or to-morrow, what matters it? muttered the quiet-eyed man at Conyngham's side. The Englishman turned and looked at him. 'They will shoot me too, but not now.
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