The peasant struck up a rousing song in praise of wine. But in the middle of the third verse he stopped. They were crossing the road which led from Navares to the main gate of the abbey. José sank on one knee and pored over something he had seen. Two wheels had cut two deep grooves in the wet sand. José measured the distance between them with his two palms. Then he examined the marks of the horse's shoes. "These wheels," he said, "were not Portuguese. And, unless they've shod him in Lisbon or Oporto, these shoes didn't belong to a Portuguese horse." Antonio hardly heard him. High on the hill, from inside the principal window of the abbey guest-house, the flame of a candle looked out like a living thing. BOOK IV THE AZULEJOS I Until one o'clock in the morning Antonio and José sat in council. But their session was barren. Who was up at the guest-house? Could it be the Viscount de Ponte Quebrada, resuming his search for the buried pictures and chalices? They thought not. The Viscount had become a considerable personage, and could not afford to run such risks. Or was it the Viscount's old accomplice, the Captain? Perhaps. The Captain had little to lose. But no: it could not be he. A thief would never have proclaimed his presence by setting lights in front windows. For a minute or two Antonio indulged a hope that the visitor was merely his old adversary, the official of the Fazenda at Villa Branca. But José shook his head, and said that such a guess was too good to be true. He went on to avow a presentiment that the abbey had been sold. Antonio could not contradict him, and the two men sat silent for a long time. "Come and speak to me at dawn," said the monk, going at last to the hearthside and lighting José's lantern. "Perhaps it will be best for one of us to march up boldly to the guest-house. As the nearest neighbors we can easily make some excuse." José shook his head again and departed without a word. Soon after daybreak they met in the garden, and the master confessed that his man was right. God only knew what high strategy and petty tactics they might have to employ in their defense of His house; and it would be the worst policy to thrust themselves into notice. The autumn sun was rising behind the abbey hill. Pearly mists hid everything. But, as the glorious orb ascended, the tides of vapor began to ebb. Here and there the tops of the higher pines showed themselves above the drifting mists, like masts and shrouds of ships wrecked in milky shallows. A minute later the chapel and the monastery buildings appeared, huge and vague as an enchanter's palace suddenly exhaled from twilight seas of foam. As the outlines sharpened, Antonio recalled his vigil on the moonlit night of his return. He remembered the fear which preceded it--the sickening fear that he might be too late. But he remembered also how he had finally trusted in God to guard His own.