Tired out as he was by hard days and nights this sudden temptation overthrew Antonio. The cabin which had lured him aside from the garish dusty road by its dimness and coolness suddenly seemed foul and mean, the soft-eyed, soft-voiced countrymen seemed louts, the refreshing wine seemed sugar and vinegar. Forgetting everybody's presence he broke into a loud, bitter laugh, flung down the price of ten glasses of wine, scrambled upon his horse and dashed away. "That man is mad," said one of the peasants, gazing after the bobbing black core of the dwindling cloud of dust. "He has committed a crime," said another more gravely. "He is a Spaniard," said a third: and all felt that he had uttered the crowning word of horror. For the first time in his life Antonio was cruel to a dumb beast. He struck at his horse's flanks savagely, lashing him on through dust and heat. His whole soul was storming with rebellion. But a whinnying sound of pain and fear recalled him to his better self. He reined in his horse. The poor brute, accustomed to a gentle Portuguese master and filled with fright and bewilderment at these strange doings, whinnied again. Leaping down, Antonio patted the quivering neck and looked round in the hope that there might be water. The scene which met his eyes shamed him. He was within a stone's-throw of the pine-clad hill where he had passed his first night out of doors, just after he fled from his brethren at Navares. With a rush of penitence he obeyed the sign. He thought of that good horse Babieca, the battle-charger of the Cid--that good horse who knelt down of his own accord outside the hidden shrine at the capture of Toledo. Still stroking and patting his animal's neck, Antonio led the way up into the grove. There he found the curved bark of a cork tree, and, turning up the two ends, he poured into this rude horse-trough every drop of wine from the skins in his saddle-bags and held it to the parched muzzle as a peace-offering. The little white horse, having an excellent judgment, speedily licked the cork dry: but Antonio made no haste to remount. Unless some ill befell, he would know before nightfall whether he had come on a fool's errand or not. This was the last day of his journey: and it was fitting that he should recover a clear mind and a quiet spirit.