Now, if the patre had told him that he had just been honoured with a visit from the Virgin Mary, José would have received the communication with the deepest reverence and the most unquestioning belief. For it would then have been “a mystery of the Faith;” and José was in the habit of divesting himself of his reason and common sense whenever he entered the temple of the supernatural. Scarcely any marvel could be proposed to him there to which he would hesitate to give implicit credence. But upon the platform of this world and its affairs, and within what he considered the legitimate domain of his reason, he was a shrewd and careful investigator of facts. He inherited the practical ability of his fathers, who were accustomed to decide hard cases, and to do justice and judgment between man and man. The half astonished, half angry Fray Fernando found he had no alternative save to set his doubts at rest by a full and circumstantial account of his interview with the matador. This could hardly fail to convince the most sceptical; and once convinced, José was ready to prove himself an invaluable ally. “We will save him,” he said. “Spain is far away; Spaniards will do anything for gold.” Fray Fernando pondered. “But I have no gold,” he objected. “I have,” José answered quietly. “Moreover, the time is favourable. The Commandante has gone to Cuzco. Only the Capitano remains. He has his price. Let me treat with him, patre. Nothing easier for him than to give out that the men are dead.” “The _men_?” “Yes; the stake I mean to play for is the deliverance of both—the matador and the Englishman.” “For Heaven’s sake, José, beware what you do,” cried Fray Fernando in alarm. “You will peril all. The Englishman is a prisoner of the Holy Office.” “So is the other.” “Ay; but consider the difference. Melchior was condemned to the galleys full sixteen years ago, in Spain. The matter was never known here; and by this time is well-nigh forgotten everywhere. But Walter Grey—fresh in every man’s mind and memory, and under the very eyes of their reverences who pronounced his sentence!—No, no, José; unless you want to ruin us, you must leave him alone.” “Well, I can wait,” replied the imperturbable José. And rising from his seat, he began to prepare their frugal supper. But Fray Fernando could not eat. Out of the fulness of his heart he talked to José of the former days, and of Melchior del Salto; until it became absolutely necessary for him to attend to his evening devotions. When these were over, José prevailed on him to lie down, and at least endeavour to take some rest. Sleep was not possible to him; but it was good to lie motionless in the dark on his mat, to think over the past and the present, and to thank God for His great mercy. José, when left alone, meditated for a little while on the patre’s strange history, then disinterred his own treasure, and began to examine it.