An ostler, or nondescript servant, wearing fustian knee-breeches, without braces, with a muleteer's embroidered shirt, and having a yellow handkerchief tied round his head, spread a (not over-clean) cloth on the table; knives, forks, and covers were laid for two, with a cold fowl, a loaf of white bread, a dish of beans, garlic, and a bottle of aquadiente. I observed this wild-looking waiter frequently glancing at my rifle, and the jewelled dirk that dangled at my waist-belt; I became suspicious of everything. "You are well armed, señor," said he. "It is natural; for arms are my profession," said I. I looked at my watch: the hands indicated eleven o'clock! Two hours had elapsed since Hall and I had separated; still there was no appearance of him. Twenty times I opened the shutters of the unglazed windows, and listened intently; but the night wind that swept down the dark ravine in the Sierra, brought neither shout nor footstep; so I resolved to sup, go to bed, and trust to daylight for discovering Jack, if he did not arrive at the posada before morning. I had just concluded supper, when the last remains of the last candle in this solitary inn, sank into its iron socket, and left us in darkness; at least with no other light than the red wavering glow that came from the hearth, where a few roots of pine and corkwood smouldered beside the brown puchero, in which the amiable patrona had boiled the beans for my repast. "Here is a pretty piece of business!" said Martin Secco; "we have not another candle were it to light a blessed altar; and the señor Caballero must go to bed in the dark." "Heed not that, señor patron," said I; "for I am a soldier, as you may see, and am used to discomfort." "'T is well; for I am sure that the señor has experienced nothing but discomfort in our poor posada. When I am rich enough, señor, I hope to have an hotel in the Alameda; and then should the Caballero ever come to Malaga again, he will remember Martin Secco." At this remark, I heard the patrona utter a low chuckling laugh; but whether at the prospect of the fine hotel, or the doubtful chances of my ever again visiting Malaga, I could not say. "Now, señor patron," said I, rising and taking up my rifle, "I should like to reach the town betimes to-morrow; so show me to my chamber, and should my friend arrive, fail not to call me." "Will you not leave your gun here?" suggested the host. "Thank you--no," said I, while my undefined suspicions grew stronger within me. "Do you lead the way, señor, and I shall follow. Good night, señora patrona." "Bueno noche, señor," said she, stirring up the embers; and we separated.