It was dark night before we reached Corcuvion. Antonio again stopped to refresh at a wine-shop, after which he conducted us to the house of the _alcalde_. His steps were by this time not particularly steady, and on arriving at the gate of the house, he stumbled over the threshold and fell. He got up with an oath, and instantly commenced thundering at the door with the stock of his musket. “Who is it?” at length demanded a soft female voice in Gallegan. “The _valiente_ of Finisterre,” replied Antonio; whereupon the gate was unlocked, and we beheld before us a very pretty female with a candle in her hand. “What brings you here so late, Antonio?” she inquired. “I bring two prisoners, _mi pulida_,” replied Antonio. “_Ave Maria_!” she exclaimed. “I hope they will do no harm.” “I will answer for one,” replied the old man; “but as for the other, he is a _nuveiro_, and has sunk more ships than all his brethren in Galicia. But be not afraid, my beauty,” he continued, as the female made the sign of the cross: “first lock the gate, and then show me the way to the _alcalde_. I have much to tell him.” The gate was locked, and bidding us stay below in the court-yard, Antonio followed the young woman up a stone stair, whilst we remained in darkness below. After the lapse of about a quarter of an hour we again saw the candle gleam upon the staircase, and the young female appeared. Coming up to me, she advanced the candle to my features, on which she gazed very intently. After a long scrutiny she went to my guide, and having surveyed him still more fixedly, she turned to me, and said, in her best Spanish, “_Señor_ Cavalier, I congratulate you on your servant. He is the best-looking _mozo_ in all Galicia. _Vaya_! if he had but a coat to his back, and did not go barefoot, I would accept him at once as a _novio_; but I have unfortunately made a vow never to marry a poor man, but only one who has got a heavy purse and can buy me fine clothes. So you are a Carlist, I suppose? _Vaya_! I do not like you the worse for that. But, being so, how went you to Finisterre, where they are all _Cristinos_ and _negros_? Why did you not go to my village? None would have meddled with you there. Those of my village are of a different stamp to the drunkards of Finisterre. Those of my village never interfere with honest people. _Vaya_! how I hate that drunkard of Finisterre who brought you; he is so old and ugly; were it not for the love which I bear to the _Señor Alcalde_, I would at once unlock the gate and bid you go forth, you and your servant, _el buen mozo_”. {37}