As soon as horse and men were out of sight, Antonio hurried up the hill and made his way into the abbey. It was his hope and prayer that Sir Percival would be restrained by lack of cash from interfering with the monastery and that he would live quietly and cheaply in the more modern and airy little guest-house. But the monk knew that the sacred pile was menaced by a thousand perils; and therefore he spent nearly an hour in wandering from kitchen to refectory, from library to calefactory, from cell to cell, from cloister to chapel. Perhaps he was near the last time. With burning earnestness he recited Vespers in his old stall. Rising from his knees, Antonio paid a visit to a useless-looking door in the outer wall of the cloisters. Like all the other doors of the building, it was so well plastered over with official seals on the outer side that José and Antonio had never dared to use it. Yet Antonio knew its secret well. A massy bolt appeared to secure it, like the gate of a castle; but there was a tiny green-painted stud of iron hidden in the masonry outside which controlled the whole. By pressing the stud, the staple on the door-jamb moved slightly, leaving the bolt free. This clever and simple mechanism was due to an English Benedictine, who had fled to Portugal just after the martyrdom of the Abbot of Reading, under Henry the Eighth. Antonio examined it, and found it in good order. He and José reached home almost at the same moment. The man would have returned to his work without a word had not the master stopped him. "These English people, who are arriving next week," said Antonio, "may become, in the long run, our worst enemies. But they think they are our friends. They mean well. We will do our whole duty to them as neighbors." José said nothing. "It is my prayer," added Antonio, "that they will lock up the monastery and be satisfied with the guest-house. For some things, I wish ... I hope ... I should like them to hear ... I mean, José, I should like some one in the village to tell young Mr. Crowberry your ghost-tale about the monk." "He knows it already, your Worship," said José stolidly. "Knows it already? Who told him?" "I did, your Worship." Antonio could have wrung José's hand. But the shaggy fellow had a little more to tell. "They come on Tuesday," he said slowly. "The young Senhor Crôbri says he is going to sit up in the chapel on Wednesday night. But he won't see anything; because I know that next Wednesday the monk won't be there. The young Senhor is going back to England, starting on Thursday. After that, the monk can do as he likes. The senhoras will be so frightened at the young Senhor's tale that they won't go near the abbey. As it's nearly winter, perhaps they'll soon be afraid of the guest-house too. Ghosts might begin appearing up there, as well, before long. You never know."