"Look ye, senor," said he, regardless of the blots and blunders that his interruptions caused Stuart to make; "do you see that image of our Holy Lady in the niche yonder?" "Well, padre?" "’Tis the work of Alonza Cano." "Pshaw! what is that to me? I never heard of the gentleman before." "He was the first of Spanish architects and painters, and with his own hands adorned many of our finest churches and palaces. He was born at Grenada in the year 1600, and as the proverb says—" "Never mind what it says. For Heaven’s sake, _mi amigo_, leave me to write in peace." "Did you but know that he lost the woman he loved by a dagger-stroke from a matador, you would probably care more for the story of his singular misfortunes." "Pardon me, padre," said Ronald, with a melancholy interest; "what were they?" "The full career of Alonza’s glory was cut short thus. One evening, on returning home, he found his wife, a most beautiful woman, lying dead, with a dagger planted in her heart. His servant, a vile Italian, the perpetrator of the deed, had fled, and by order of the alcalde Mayor, Alonza was arrested, and charged with having slain the lady in a fit of jealousy. The dagger which the assassin used, was known to be that of Alonza; he was a man naturally of a fierce and jealous temper, and had kept watchful eyes on the senora, who was the handsomest woman that ever promenaded on the Prado, or Plaza, at Madrid; and the compliments paid her by the gay cavaliers and guardsmen of the capital were as molten lead poured into the heart of her husband, though of course very proud of her, for she was a fine creature,—_Como un palmito_, as the old proverb says." "Is this all the story, Ignacio?" "The rest is yet to come. The _tail_ is the worst, senor; as the old saw says,—_Aun lefalta la cola por desollar_." "The devil take your saws and proverbs! You are as full of them as your countryman Sancho Panza." "Well, senor; Alonza was racked without mercy to extort confession, and he endured the most horrible torments without uttering a word to criminate himself. By the king’s order he was set free, and died at a great age, a poor priest like myself. In his dying hour, when a brother held the crucifix before his glazing eyes, he desired him to remove it, saying the image of our Saviour was so clumsily done, that the sight of it pained him; as the proverb says, senor, _De paja_—"