Fitz had no intention of going upstairs. He was not a man to take the initiative in social matters. His instinct told him that if Eve wanted him she would send for him. She had cabled to him to bring the doctor. He had brought the doctor, and now he went out on the terrace to "stand by," as he put it to himself, for further orders. If, as the gossips averred, he was the Senorita's lover, he deemed it wiser to relinquish that position just now. As a matter of fact, however, no word of love had passed between them. Fitz was standing by the low wall of the terrace looking down into the hazy, dim depths of the valley, when the further orders which he awaited came to him. Hearing a light step on the pavement behind him, he turned, and faced Eve, who was running towards him. "Will you come upstairs?" she said. "I think he wants to see you." "Certainly," he answered. She had hurried out, but they walked back rather slowly. Nevertheless, they did not seem to have anything to say to each other. When they entered the room upstairs together, a faint little smile full of wisdom hovered for a second round the old priest's clean-shaven lips. The dying man had evidently wanted something or some one. The old priest knew human nature, hence the little shadowy smile called up by Eve's transparently partial interpretation of her father's desire. Edward Challoner looked at him, but did not appear to recognise his face. It seemed that he had left the earth so far behind now that the faces of those walking on it were no longer distinguishable. He gave a little half-pettish groan, and a stillness came over the room. The old padre and the doctor, who did not know a word of any common language, exchanged a glance, and in a very business-like way, as of one whose trade it was, the priest got down upon his knees. Then the doctor, half-shyly, approached Eve, and taking her by the arm, led her gently out of the room. Fitz stayed where he was, standing by the dead man, looking down at the priest's bowed head, while the bell of the little chapel attached to the Casa d'Erraha told the valley that a good man had gone to his rest. CHAPTER VI. AN ACTOR PASSES OFF THE STAGE. We pass; the path that each man trod Is dim, or will be dim, with weeds. The priest was the first to speak. "You are his friend, I also; but we are of different nations." He paused, drawing the sheet up over the dead man's face. "He was not of my Church. You have your ways; will you make the arrangements?" "Yes," replied Fitz simply, "if you like." "It is better so, my son"--the padre took a pinch of snuff--"because--he was not of my Church. You will stay here, you and your friend. She, the Senorita Eve, cannot be left alone, with her grief." He spoke Spanish, knowing that the Englishman understood it.