“They are paying themselves for the mules and horses,” said Fray Henriques with a shrug. “So I see,” answered Castell, “but you——” and he stopped. “Oh, do not be afraid for me,” replied the priest with a cunning little smile. “The Church does not loot; but in the end the Church gets her share. These are a pious folk. Only when he learns that the caravel did not sink after all, I fear the marquis will demand an account of us.” Then they limped on over the hill, and presently saw the white-walled and red-roofed village beneath them on the banks of the river. Five minutes later their guide stopped at a door in a roughly paved street, which he opened with a key. “My humble dwelling, when I am in residence here, and not at Granada,” he said, “in which I shall be honoured to receive you. Look, near by is the church.” Then they entered a patio, or courtyard, where some orange-trees grew round a fountain of water, and a life-sized crucifix stood against the wall. As he passed this sacred emblem Peter bowed and crossed himself, an example that Castell did not follow. The priest looked at him sharply. “Surely, Señor,” he said, “you should do reverence to the symbol of our Saviour, who, by His mercy, have just been saved from the death which the marquis told me had overtaken both of you.” “My right arm is hurt,” answered Castell readily, “so I must do that reverence in my heart.” “I understand, Señor; but if you are a stranger to this country, which you do not seem to be, who speak its tongue so well, with your permission I will warn you that here it is wise not to confine your reverences to the heart. Of late the directors of the Inquisition have become somewhat strict, and expect that the outward forms should be observed as well. Indeed, when I was a familiar of the Holy Office at Seville, I have seen men burned for the neglect of them. You have two arms and a head, Señor, also a knee that can be bent.” “Pardon me,” answered Castell to this lecture. “I was thinking of other matters. The carrying off of my daughter at the hands of your patron, the Marquis of Morella, for instance.” Then, making no reply, the priest led them through his sitting-room to a bed-chamber with high barred windows, that, although it was large and lofty, reminded them somehow of a prison cell. Here he left them, saying that he would go to find the local surgeon, who, it seemed, was a barber also, if, indeed, he were not engaged in “lightening the ship,” recommending them meanwhile to take off their wet clothes and lie down to rest.