But for Jesus Maria the afternoon would have been delightful. They were ascending, and the air was cooler; the great plain of La Mancha was studded with windmills, and its horizon gave up the welcome and lofty ridges of the Sierra de Alcatraz. But the cavalier—when not smoking the eternal cigarito—strummed his guitar and sang all the love-songs he knew. Mr. Moulton coughed and frowned and ordered Lydia to turn her back; but open remonstrance might have meant the flashing of knives, certainly the vociferating protest of female voices, for the car was crowded and the peasants were delighted with the concert. At Chinchilla, however, there was a diversion, and love moved rearward. A man leaped into the train. He wore a belt of three tiers, and each tier was stuck full of knives. Mrs. Moulton screamed; but he was immediately surrounded by the peasants, who snatched at the knives and bargained shamelessly. In a moment he thrust them aside, and, making his way to the strangers, protested that he had reserved his best for them, and flourished in their faces some of the finest specimens of Albacete—long, curved blades of steel and long, curved handles of ebony or ivory inlaid with bits of colored glass and copper. Catalina and Captain Over bought several at a third of the price demanded. The Catalan had followed the huckster, and under Mr. Moulton’s very nose he bought the longest and most deadly of the collection. After several playful thrusts at the vender, and severing a lock of his hair, he thrust it conspicuously into his sash, and with a lightning glance at poor Mr. Moulton returned to his seat. Here it was evident that he related deeds of prowess; once more he flourished the knife, and his audience uttered high staccato notes of approval. XI They arrived at Albacete before nightfall. It was too small a place for the omnibus, but several enterprising boys appropriated the hand-luggage and, without awaiting instructions, made for the one hotel of the Alto. This proved to be so far superior to the hotel of the small American town that it appeared palatial to the weary travellers. It stood, large and white and cool, on the Alameda, whose double row of plane-trees formed an avenue down the middle of the long, wide street. It is true the beds were not made, water appeared to be as precious as at the stations, and the servants as weak of head as of ambulatory muscle; but the rooms were large and lofty and clean, and the supper was eatable. Mrs. Moulton and Jane, after a brief ramble, sought what to both was become the end and aim of all travelling—bed and quiet; and Mr. Moulton, leaving the other two girls in charge of Over, soon followed their example. “I saw that scoundrel leave the train,” he murmured, as he left Over at the foot of the staircase, “but he has gone off to the diversions of the new town, no doubt, and will be occupied for a few hours at least.”