He talked with a modesty so formed as really to show his high pride in everything that was Basque. When Cartaret pressed him, he told, with only a pretense of doubt in his voice, how the Celtiberi considered themselves descendants of the ocean-engulfed Atalantes, and former owners of all the Spanish peninsula. Even now, he insisted, they were the sole power over themselves from the bold coast-line of Vizcaya to the borders of Navarre and had so been long before Sancho the Wise was forced to grant them a _fuero_. They had always named their own governors and fixed their own taxes by republican methods. The sign of the Vascongadas, the three interlaced hands with the motto _Iruracacabat_, signified three-in-one, because delegates from their three parliaments met each year to care for the common interests of all; but there was no written pact between them: the Basques were people of honor. Spain? Don Ricardo disliked its mention. St. Mary of Salvaterra! The Basque parliaments named a deputation that negotiated with representatives of the Escorial and preserved Basque liberties and law. If Madrid called that sovereignty, it was welcome to the term. "We remain untouched by Spain," he said, "and untouched by the world. Our legends are still Grecian, our customs are what the English call 'iron-clad.' Basque blood is Basque and so remains. It never mixes. It could mix in only one contingency." Cartaret was glad that the darkness hid his flushed cheek as he answered: "I have recently heard of that contingency." "It never occurs," said Eskurola quickly, "because the Basque always chooses not to permit himself to be saved. It is a traditional law among us as strong as that against the disgrace of suicide." Their feet were sounding over a bridge: the bridge, as Cartaret reflected, to the castle's moat. Through the light of the torches, the great gray walls of the pile climbed above him and disappeared into the night. A studded door, with mighty heaving of bolts, swung open before them, and they passed through into a vaulted gateway. The pine-knots cast dancing shadows on the stones. Into what medieval world was he being admitted? Did Vitoria indeed inhabit it? And if she did, what difficulties and dangers must he overcome before ever he could take her thence? Don Ricardo was speaking. "I welcome you to my poor home," he said. Cartaret's heart beat high. He was ready for any difficulty, for any danger.... With a solemn boom the great gate swung shut behind him. He felt that it had shut out the Twentieth Century. CHAPTER XIV SOMETHING OR OTHER ABOUT TRADITIONS ... Since we must part, down right With happy day; burdens well borne are light. --Donne: _Eleg. XIII_.