Luis heard of these arrangements through a message sent him by Senhora Gertrudes, who promised him that, happen what might, her young mistress should never forget his love and devotion; and that to his courage she owed her life and honour. This was the only particle of consolation he received; and, as it was the only food offered to his hopes, it was not surprising that they were left to starve. He had just passed the last point from which the ruined capital could be seen,--Pedro, observing his master's mood, not attempting to interrupt his meditations,--when a horseman from a cross-road suddenly joined them, and riding up to the side of Luis, accosted him. "Good morrow, Senhor Fidalgo, you are early on the road," said the stranger, in a clear jovial voice. "By your leave, I will ride on some way with you." "Many thanks, senhor, for your polite offer," returned Luis, scarcely noticing the speaker; "but I should prefer travelling alone." "What! Don Luis d'Almeida, the brave, the gallant, and the gay, turned misanthropical?" exclaimed the stranger, laughing. "However, great changes are taking place every day,--honest men turning rogues, and rogues turning honest; one can never tell what will happen next." As the stranger was speaking, Luis regarded him attentively, nor was he long in discovering, beneath the military curled wig and queue, the fierce moustaches, and heavy travelling dress, the features of the _ci-devant_ Fre Lopez. "I trust that you are one of those making a change for the better, Senhor Padre," said Luis; "but I expected to have met you in a dress more appropriate to your character than the one you wear." "I am glad to find that you do not forget your old friends, as I was at first afraid you were going to do," returned the Friar. "With regard to my costume, you belie it, to say that it is not suited to the character of an honest man; for let me assure you, that, doubt it as you may, I have turned honest; and where can you find a more honourable dress than that of a soldier?" "Yet, such is surely not suited to your character as a friar," said Luis. "Why not? may I not belong to the church militant," returned Fre Lopez. "However, to confess the truth, I have my friar's robes carefully wrapped up in my valise behind me, and I intend before long to don them for ever; for I am growing weary of the fatigues and dangers of the wild life I have led, and pine for the quiet and security of the cloister. Yet, let me assure you that it was for your sake I assumed my present disguise. I heard that you were about to travel this way, and, knowing that the roads were very far from safe, on account of the number of thieves who have been frightened out of Lisbon, I thought it my duty to accompany you, to prevent your suffering from them."