“There can be no doubt upon that subject, my son. Father Francis, who was apprenticed to book and scholarship in the prettiest monastery in Middlesex, and who reads Hebrew quite as well as I do myself, has assured me on several occasions that ‘though the Scriptures aver that the Lord created the goodliness of earth and heaven in six days, Spain is not mentioned.’ The which makes me to contend that as your land is not mentioned in Holy Writ, and as it differs so greatly from the goodliness of earth and heaven, as English rectitude differs from Spanish chastity, it must having so many tarantulas, fops, flies, and Spaniards in it--and these latter, mark you, never use a word of honest London English in their lives--it must, I say, being so afflicted with such pestilence, be the invention of the Devil. And even for the Devil it was invented very poorly.” It was during our sojourn at this inn that we fell upon a wise course. The sun at noon had been so much our enemy in travelling that we determined to pursue our journey to Toledo in the night. Thus riding under the coolness of the stars, we made good progress; and so happy were we in the ease and swiftness of this mode, that each afternoon we took a siesta apart from the heat of the day, and kept the road in the darkness. We had hardly an adventure that was worthy of the name. Indeed the chief ones were those that Sir Richard saw in his imagination. For if he so much as observed a peasant sitting his ass and smiling peacefully, he would hold his sword arm ready, lest he should prove a robber in disguise. “For I would have you to understand, good Miguel,” said he, “you are the one inhabitant of this precious continent to whom I am not afeared to show my back.” “Then if you please,” said I, “I would be well content if you make no exception in my favour; for I am convinced that the least of my countrymen are worthy of your trust.” “My young companion,” said he, “I gather from your conversation that you claim no acquaintance with any land beyond your own cursed sandy peninsula.” “Indeed that is the case, sir, and with your leave I will never seek to dwell in one that is fairer.” “Alack! it is precisely here where your mind has gone amiss. I am convinced that were you only to set foot in England, you would take such a disgust of your native peninsularity as I have taken of it.” The love of my country incited me to a recollection of what my father had told me concerning this strange island of which Sir Richard Pendragon made such a boast. “Does the sun shine overmuch in England?” I asked.