"Wilt thou then that?" said the other, with a grim smile, as he slowly lifted himself up from stooping over the pile of lumber, of all hues and textures, rich and sombre-coloured, thick and fragile. "Another time, neighbour Sancho, I would warn thee to be more chary of passing thy word to a blind bargain, lest one more cunning than thyself should hold thee to the promise. To purchase the rare wares of this small rubbish-heap would take many more than all the maravedis paid thee yester morn for thy lustres, by the fathers of San Jacomb. This veil alone hath been purchased of me for a fair round sum." Master Sancho stared at the filmy texture, disfigured here and there with rents, and shrugged his shoulders. "Thy wife, Doña Carlina, would not wear it." "She will not have the chance. That veil, now many years since, shrouded the form of a Sultana--the ill-used queen of Aba-Abdalla, the last king of the Moors in Granada, thanks to the Virgin, our good knights, and Queen Isabella. And now Señor Antonio del Rincon hath hired it, and various others of these draperies, for the finishing of his great picture of the Life of the Blessed Virgin." "And when he hath done with it?" inquired the good merchant, with something of growing reverence. "Then it hath been purchased by a party of the ricos hombres,[1] who have vowed it to St. Jago, in memory of that grand day ten years ago, when our valiant Spanish knights adventured themselves, in the disguise of Turks, within the walls of Granada, as champions of their enemy's helpless queen. But come, friend, time passes, and Señor Antonio will be waiting for his stuffs." [Footnote 1: The wealthy class next in standing to the nobles.] As it was not good Sancho, but Master Pedro himself who had been delaying the expedition, the friends were soon enough on the road now that he was ready; and a hope began to dawn again in the mind of Montoro's new patron, that made amends to him for the loss of minutes from his daily toils. "Señor Antonio del Rincon stands high in favour at the Court, neighbour," he observed at last, meditatively, as they walked along, side by side, to their destination; and Master Pedro answered shortly: "Ay, neighbour; even so. He doth." The reply was given in a tone not exactly inviting to further converse, but that zealous Sancho nevertheless continued, still thoughtfully: "Ay, ay. And doubtless being a favourite he hath influence to obtain a favour if so be he could be influenced to ask one." A shrewd, quick glance from his companion's eyes rewarded this conjecture; but they and the bundle of "properties" had now arrived at the temporary abiding-place of del Rincon, known to after-times as the father of the Spanish School. And Master Pedro's face assumed its usual solemn business aspect.