"Well, señores, I was just thinking of these strange things when a hand was laid heavily upon my shoulder; I turned, and by the light of a shrine at the corner of a street, saw a dark face and a tall figure girdled by a scarlet sash full of daggers and pistols. "'Who are you,' I asked fearlessly. "'Fabrique de Urquija.' "'Go, go,' said I, feeling my heart leap at the name; 'I am but a poor priest, and can give you nought but my blessing.' "'Your blessing be hanged! señor padre, hand over all you possess, or by the Holy Face of Jaen,'--and grinding his teeth he grasped a poniard. "'As I live I possess nothing but my cassock and these poor little pistareens which are for a widow and her starving children.' "'Then off with the cassock, and give me the pistareens to boot. Your garment I must have, for I mean to play the priest to-night, and visit a dame whom I may make a widow, too, some of these days.' "In vain I begged him to leave me the pistareens, but this demon of avarice only laughed, and touching his pistols said,-- "'Quick, quick, and here take my jacket and maldito, begone without looking behind you.' "The exchange was soon made; with a hoarse laugh the robber thrust himself into my threadbare cassock, and with loathing I drew on his old velvet jacket, which was tattered and full of holes. He then bade me farewell with mock solemnity; and glad to escape so easily I hastened away, but had not gone many yards when I heard the voice of the terrible Urquija commanding me to 'stop;' and believing that, repenting of his clemency, he only meant to poniard me, I turned and fled with all the spaed of my poor old legs, fervently invoking the saints, and praying to Madonna that the vision of the sacrilegious pursuer might be obscured, and that I might escape. "'Come back, padre, come back, there is a mistake,' I heard him crying; 'por vida del demonio, stop, or it will be the worse for you!' "But, blessed be Heaven, I escaped and reached the humble house of the widow, where her little ones gathered round me, and sought to clutch as usual the long skirts of my cassock; but, ay de mi, they were gone, and with them my pistareens, so that I was without the means of buying bread for the children of the dead guerilla. "What shall I do!" thought I, and mechanically felt the pocket of the jacket; it contained something hard: what is this! I pulled it forth, and Madre Maria! found the sudden cause of the robber's oaths, pursuit, and vociferations, for by the exchange of our apparel I had become the possessor of one hundred golden pistoles!