"Keep quiet. It seems the Viscount told Sir Percy, on the quiet, that there are several jobs about this abbey which they can work together. He mentioned one. These al--I mean, azulejos. Sir Percy has invented a way of getting them down." Antonio's heart almost stood still. "They can't, they daren't," he cried at last. "Till the abbey is wholly paid for, how dare they?" "Who's to object? Hasn't the Fazenda man got three hundred, all for himself? Isn't he going to do anything to earn the money? Da Rocha, I always said you were not a man of the world. They dare, they can, and they will rip down those damned old tiles. And when they've got them down here they're going to get them down in other places--other old convents. The Viscount can get six hundred pounds a set. They're wanted for museums and galleries." "He can get at least a thousand," cried Antonio. "So much the better for Sir Percy and the Viscount. That's how the twenty-eight hundred is to be paid. It'll be all right. Now, about your lease of the vineyards." "Mr. Crowberry," said Antonio, halting and looking with a white face at his friend. "Don't think me ungrateful. But this hurts me to the quick. What if the monks should return to buy back their own? Nay, less. What if one of them should merely revisit it? Those azulejos were their chief pride. What will they say when they know that this, in a sense, is my doing; that it wouldn't have happened if I had never written to you for money?" "Who's going to tell 'em?" demanded the other, vexed. "If you don't, nobody else will." "Whether they ever know it or not," said Antonio, "I tell you I'd rather you should pluck out one of my eyes than tear down those azulejos." "Then you deserve to have been born one-eyed," retorted Mr. Crowberry, thoroughly aroused. "I never heard such tomfoolery in my life. This is what I get for trying to do you a good turn. Gad! As if you didn't put enough of a wet blanket on us all when you proposed our healths! I'll tell you what it is. There's too much damnable gush in this hole of a Portugal, and that's why you're all beggars." Antonio was about to reply hotly; but the wine-merchant stopped him. "No," he said, "I take that back. We won't quarrel. But you've upset me badly. I go away on Thursday or Friday. We've only one clear day to fix this lease. Don't be a fool." "If the azulejos cannot be spared," replied Antonio, terribly agitated, "I cannot become Sir Percy's tenant." "But, my ridiculous friend, look here. Sir Percy doesn't want a tenant--neither you nor anybody else. He's leasing you the vineyards to oblige me. D'ye expect me to go and make conditions when he's doing you a favor?" Antonio began pacing up and down, with bent head and hands clasped behind his back. He strode, six steps this way and six steps back, over and over again, with a feverish tread, like an animal in a cage. After a full minute he threw up his head, and said: