The two young men, whose limbs were brisker than their tongues, jumped up and began filling roughly glazed and gaily painted jugs and mugs with green wine from a newly broached cask. Senhor Jorge was famous for his hospitality, and even José's ghost was forgotten for a moment in the good-tempered rough-and-tumble. Margarida, who had remained invisible since the breaking of the bowl, now reappeared. She and her brother Gaspar each carried a basket of broas. These were not the plain work-a-day broas; they looked paler, because of an admixture of fine flour, and they were sweetened with honey and flavored with spice. Gaspar began distributing his dainties at the far ends of the barn, while Margarida served the notables round the candles. Antonio could not unlearn in a single moment his old habits; and therefore, when he took his broa from Margarida's hand, he thanked her with the softly strong tones and the momentary boldness of the eyes which, without his knowing or intending it, had captivated more than one high lady in England. If Donna Perpetua or the farrier's wife or the spinner had offered the broa, he would have expressed his thanks in the same way. But poor Margarida found in his voice and glance a lover-like reverence, meant for herself alone. She forgot the evil omen of the broken bowl, and hurried away with rosy fires burning on her cheeks and love-lights dancing in her eyes. VIII When the serão was beginning to break up, Senhor Jorge asked Antonio into the house in order that he might judge some old wine. After it had been tasted and praised, the lavrador gazed at the monk wistfully and said: "I hope the Senhor is not superstitious?" "Superstitious? I hope not," Antonio replied. "And I promise, Senhor Jorge, that I will speak very plainly to my man José about that ridiculous ghost-story." "I wasn't thinking of your man José," said the lavrador. And, after an awkward pause, he added: "That clay pot. Your Worship failed to catch it. And just after the pot broke the sky was darkened. It ... it upset my Margarida very much." Antonio's heart sank. Had Senhor Jorge been merely a selfish match-maker, bent on marrying off Margarida for his own profit, it would have been easy to rebuff him by silent contempt. But the monk knew that he was face to face with an honest Portuguese of the old school who was sacrificing pride to duty. To gain time Antonio poured another spoonful of wine into the thin English glass. Having warmed it with his hand, he swirled it round, sniffed it, and held it up to the lamp. But he did not drink it. Replacing it on the table, he said: "Have two or three minutes' patience with me, Senhor Jorge, while I perform one of the hardest tasks of a life which has not been easy. For three years I have lived like a hermit. To-night is my first social recreation since I settled down in this parish." "Go on," urged Senhor Jorge. His face was paler and his mouth twitched.