At the word host, Margarita raised her eyes, and beheld a stranger who Accompanied her master. The face of the old dame assumed suddenly an expression of wrath and disappointment; her angry glances fell on the new comer, and again on her master, who looked down, and said with the timidity of a child who dreads the remonstrance of his parent:-- "Peace, Margarita, where there is enough, for two, there is always enough for three, and you would not have wished me to leave a Christian to starve? he has not eaten for three days." "Santa Maria! he a Christian, he looks more like a robber," and muttering to herself, the housekeeper left the room. During this parley, the stranger remained motionless at the threshold of the door; he was tall, with long black hair, and flashing eyes, his clothes were in tatters, and the long rifle which he carried excited distrust rather than favor. "Must I go away?" he inquired. The curate replied, with an emphatic gesture, "never shall he, whom I shelter, be driven away, or made unwelcome: but sit down, put aside your gun, let us say grace, and to our repast." "I never quit my weapon; as the proverb says, two friends are one, my rifle is my best friend; I shall keep it between my knees. Though you may not send me from your house till it suits me, there are others who would make me leave theirs against my will, and perhaps head-foremost. Now to your health, let us eat." The curate himself, although a man of good appetite, was amazed at the voracity of the stranger, who seemed to bolt rather than eat almost the whole of the dish, besides drinking the whole flask of wine, and leaving none for his host, or scarcely a morsel of the enormous loaf which occupied a corner of the table. Whilst he was eating so voraciously, he started at the slightest noise; if a gust of wind suddenly closed the door, he sprang up and leveling his rifle, seemed determined to repel intrusion; having recovered from his alarm, he again sat down, and went on with his repast. "Now," said he, speaking with his mouth full, "I must tax your kindness to the utmost. I am wounded in the thigh, and eight days have passed without its being dressed. Give me a few bits of linen, then you shall be rid of me." "I do not wish to rid myself of you," replied the curate, interested in his guest in spite of his threatening demeanor, by his strange exciting conversation. "I am somewhat of a doctor; you will not have the awkwardness of a country barber, or dirty bandages to complain of, you shall see." so speaking, he drew forth, from a closet a bundle containing all things needed, and turning up his sleeves, prepared himself to discharge the duty of a surgeon.