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The horse passed timorously within, with jerking ears and a distended nostril, looking from side to side. He glanced curiously at the shadowy forms of two women who held the door, and leant their whole weight against it to close it again as soon as possible. Sarrion dismounted, and drew the bridle through a ring and hook attached to the wall just inside the gates. No one spoke.
An awkward position; but I found a way out of it." "By being loyal," suggested Sarrion with a short laugh and there the conversation ceased. Juanita looked across the valley towards Pedro's mill. There was no flag there. All the valley was peaceful enough, giving in the brilliant sunshine no glint of sword or bayonet.
"It is a question of mutual accommodation," put in Sarrion in his lighter voice. "Sometimes the Church makes use of politics. And at another time it is politics making use of the Church. And each sullies the other on each occasion. We shall not let Juanita go into religion. The Church may want her and may think that it is for her happiness, but we also have our opinion on that point; we also ..."
Marcos was surprised to see his father on the platform among those waiting for the train from the capitals of the North. "Come," said Sarrion, "let us go out by the side door; I have the carriage there, the streets are impassable. No one knows where to turn. There is no head in Spain now; they assassinated him last night." "Whom?" asked Marcos. "Prim.
I will write to your father and tell him of it." Sarrion turned away, so that the shade of the lamp threw his face into darkness. He was afraid of those quick, bright eyes almost afraid that she should divine that he had already telegraphed to Cuba. "I only came to ask you whether you had heard from your father and to hear that you were well. And now I must go."
Women, you know, make a promise and then ask to be let off; you would not do that?" "No," answered Marcos, quite simply. In Navarre the hours of meals are much the same as those that rule in England to-day. At one o'clock luncheon both Marcos and Sarrion were at home. The valley seemed quiet enough.
"You have no business here," said the holy man, looking from one to the other with sullen eyes. "So far as that goes, no more have you," said Marcos. "There are no monasteries in Spain now. Sit down on that bench and keep quiet." He turned and glanced at his father. "Yes," said Sarrion, with his grim smile, "I will watch him." "Where shall I find Leon de Mogente?" said Marcos to the monk.
Marcos' window was shut, which meant that he was not there. When he was at home his window stood open by night or day, winter or summer. Juanita returned to Sarrion's room, which was next to her own. The window was ajar. The Spaniards have the habit of the open air more than any other nation of Europe. She pushed the window open. "Uncle Ramon," she whispered. But Sarrion was asleep.
Soon after her departure Sarrion and Marcos set out on horseback towards the village. There was another traveler there awaiting their Godspeed on a longer journey, towards a peace which he had never known.
And the Count de Sarrion had spoken with Christina when that woman was Queen of Spain. Mon was still astir, although the bells of the Cathedral of the Virgin of the Pillar, immediately behind his house, had struck the half hour. It was more than thirty minutes since the ferry-boat had sidled across the river, and Mon glanced at the clock on his mantelpiece.
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