Not one word either of love or of reproach had Rollo spoken since those into which he had been startled by the fear lest the girl should set her hand upon the dead of the plague. Nor did they speak even now. Rollo only put out his gloved hand to steady the cart here and there in the deeper ruts, motioning Concha to remain at the head of the oxen, where no breath of the dead might blow upon her. Thus, no man saying them nay, they arrived at the Hermitage of San Ildefonso. It was quiet even as they had left it. As they came round to the front of the building, the Basque at the door was before them. He met them on the steps, a lantern in his hand. "Who is this?" he asked, with a significant gesture towards Concha. "Carlos--a lad of our company, an Andalucian," said Rollo, in answer. "I met him by chance in the town, and he has helped me with the oxen." The friar nodded and, letting down the rear flap of the cart, he surveyed the melancholy harvest. "Twelve!" he said. "Not many, but enough. The dead will guard us well from the evil men! Ay, better than an army of twelve thousand living!" And attiring himself in an apron of tarred stuff similar to the gloves, he fastened another of the same material upon Rollo. "We will now proceed to set our sentries!" he said, grimly. As Rollo put on the gauntlets and approached to help Brother Teodoro to draw out the corpses, Concha hovered near, half timid, and yet with a certain decision of manner. The timidity was lest she should be refused in that which it was upon her tongue to ask. "Let me help the brother," she said at last; "I have nursed many--no plague will touch me!" The monk stared at the lad in wonder as he proffered his request. But Rollo roughly and angrily ordered Concha back to the heads of the oxen, which, with true Spanish fortitude, stood chewing the cud till they should be set free and returned to their stalls. "Is this boy by any chance your brother?" said the monk, as between them they settled the first sheeted dead in his niche by the side of the great door. "Nay," said Rollo, "not my brother." "Then of a surety he hath a great affection for you," continued the monk. "It is a thing unusual in one of his age!" To this Rollo did not reply, and in silence the cart was led about the house till every door and practicable entrance was guarded by one of these solemn warders. Then, the dead-cart being pushed within its shed and the oxen restored to their stalls, the three went within and the doors were locked, the bolts drawn, and everything about the Hermitage made as secure as possible.