"The senor is pleased to joke," laughed the landlord. "My gold plate is pewter, and madame's jewelry is false, excepting her wedding-ring and the few things she happened to have on that never-to-be-forgotten day.

No; they had taken nothing. But they had made a first-rate meal, and had tapped and emptied three bottles of my very best Chambertin 1868 vintage, and consumed half a bottle of Chartreuse."

"But you have no proof that they went off together," we suggested. "It may be that murder was committed. The dead body of the chambermaid all this time may be crumbling to dust and ashes in some hole or corner of your cellar. Have you a cellar, or any other place in which a murdered body might be concealed?"

"Santa Maria!" cried our host, turning pale. "The idea never occurred to me, but I shouldn't wonder if you are right. It would explain a good deal that has remained a mystery. We have a deep well out in the yard; so deep that we do not know the bottom, which is supposed to communicate with the river. The man might easily have murdered the woman and thrown her down. And we drink the water!"

"That is hardly the solution that suggests itself. After drinking your three bottles of Chambertin and your half-bottle of Chartreuse, depend upon it their heads began to go round; they felt the world coming to an end, and determined to be beforehand with it. It is clear as daylight: they both threw themselves down the well, and there you will find the skeletons. You had better have it dragged and give them decent burial, or you will certainly be seeing ghosts in the house."

By this time the landlord was trembling with horror; his eyes, grown large and round, would almost have matched the Dragon's. He was no longer in a fit state to pour out wine or change plates.

"And we drink the water," he murmured half a dozen times over. "We drink the water. This accounts for my queer symptoms. But, after all, the bodies cannot be there. They must have communicated with the river, and so floated out to sea. I dare say they will some day turn up in the Panama Ca.n.a.l or on the sh.o.r.es of New Zealand. Senor, I am quite certain this is the true state of the case. I never could understand why those two should go off together. They were always quarrelling, and seemed to hate each other like poison, and I dare say they even disputed as to which should go first down the well. But when all's said and done, it is three years ago, and they will never come back to trouble me."

"Not even as ghosts?"

He shivered.

"I never saw a ghost, senor, but I suppose there are such things. I shouldn't care to see one. Nevertheless, I will have the well dragged--quietly, not to raise a scandal. I can pretend to have dropped in a diamond ring belonging to a client. If the skeletons turn up we must hush up the matter as well as we can, and so dispose of the ghosts.

They would never walk after decent burial. Ah, senor, what a tragedy you have opened up! And all the time I was accusing the wretched pair of I know not what!"

Fortunately for us this conversation took place towards the end of dinner, or we should have fared badly. We left the landlord in his dining-room. He had dropped into a chair and was gazing on vacancy, evidently in deep thought as to how he could have the well dragged without creating a scandal to the detriment of his hotel.

We went out into the quiet night, making sure the night porter was on duty and would keep there. The streets were as dark, quiet and ill-lighted as ever, and we took care to avoid Pandemonium. The market-place, so full and lively this morning, was now empty and silent.

From the cafe already alluded to streams of light and strains of music were flowing. We turned in out of curiosity. Half a dozen musicians at the further end were making unearthly discords: shrieking and wailing instruments set one's teeth on edge and went down one's back like cold water. The room was fairly full, the atmosphere heavy with smoke; such smoke as only the Catalonians know how to produce.

Our entrance created quite a sensation. We were recognised as English, and the English who visit Lerida are few and far between. Was our visit friendly or the opposite? Their glances plainly asked the question. Then one in military uniform came up, and, with a military salute ventured to sit down near us. We thought it a singular proceeding, but decided to take it in good part. He proved to be a captain of the regiment stationed at Lerida, and a really friendly and polite man.

"I perceive, sirs, that you are strangers," he said. "Can I be of any service to you in a place where I am very much at home?"

To which we replied that our stay was drawing to a close, and we had probably seen the best of the town. "There is nothing you can do for us, though we are grateful for your good intentions. But if you would induce those in authority to grant their pa.s.ses into the fortress with less restriction, you would confer a favour upon any who may come after us."

"A senseless restriction indeed," replied our new friend, "and we all feel it so; but until some disappointed visitor of consequence appeals to the Queen or the Madrid Government, the thing will go on. There is absolutely no reason why all the world should not be admitted."

At this moment the musicians finished up with a crash. The sound was horrible. H. C. made an excruciating grimace and our captain shook with laughter.

"Do you call that music?" we asked.

"_I_ do not," he returned, "because I have spent much time in Paris, where barbaric music would not be tolerated. But these frantic discords just please the people of Lerida, who have not been educated to anything better. It is over for the night, and now everyone will depart. They have drunk their coffee or wine or spirit, sat a whole evening in a clouded, heated atmosphere, listening enraptured to the strains which have set you quivering, and are going home feeling that if this or paradise were offered to them they would not hesitate to reject paradise. Such is their life."

We got up to depart also.

"I am sorry that I can be of no use to you," said our polite captain; "but if you are leaving Lerida to-morrow, time certainly runs short. I can, however, give you my card, and place myself and all I have at your disposal. If ever you visit Lerida again, and I am quartered here, I hope you will find me out. I will at least promise you a pa.s.s into the fortress; and there are a few things you would not be likely to see without the open sesame of one of ourselves."

Upon which he shook hands, gave us a military salute, "wrapped his martial cloak about him," and pa.s.sed out into the night.

We listened to his quick receding footsteps and then turned away. The silence was only broken by the distant cry of a watchman proclaiming the hour and the weather. "El Sereno," as we called the old guardians of the darkness in Majorca, where many a time we wandered with them in the dead of night amidst the old palaces and watched them light up the wonderful old Moorish remains with their swinging lanterns.

[Ill.u.s.tration: ENTRANCE TO POBLET.]

It was a very dark night, though the stars flashed overhead. We found ourselves on the empty market-place, where trees whispered together. In the morning, when fruit and flowers and a hundred stalls and a crowd of noisy people called for all one's attention, the whispering trees were neglected. Now it was their hour, and they told each other their mighty secrets, and one felt that they were wiser and greater than mankind in its little brief authority. We stood and listened, but they talked in an unknown tongue. Almost as mysterious and full of meaning seemed the outlines of the gabled houses on the hill slopes crowned by that splendid semi-religious fortress, the tall tower cleaving the sky.

From this in days gone by the bells had rung the people to church, and hastened the steps and shortened the breath of many a fat old canon who, purple and panting, crept into his place before the altar after service had begun. But those days are over. For nearly two hundred years the bells have been silent. The sober ca.s.sock of the priest no longer haunts the precincts. Sentries with gun and bayonet now rule, and signs and symbols of warfare fill up the ancient aisles and desecrate the sacred pavement.

Gazing upon the faint outlines in the darkness of night, the gleam of a distant lantern coming up a narrow side street caught our eye. It was a watchman, and instinct told us he was none other than our Burgos _Sereno_.

He waved his lantern more energetically than usual, as though expecting to find the inhabitants of Pandemonium lurking in secret corners. As he walked, his staff struck the ground "in measured moments," keeping time with his footsteps. "It is twelve of the night," he cried, "and the night is fair. _El sereno._" We gradually approached him, knowing well we were in his mind. The rays suddenly flashed upon us, and the lantern had peace.

"Senor, instinct told me you were still in Lerida. Midnight seems your hour for walking. In truth it is far better than midday, for the world is sleeping and we have the stars in the sky. I hope that wily porter does not mean to play you the same trick to-night. To-day fifty people have asked me if the town had been bombarded, declaring they expected to see the place in ruins. Have you seen his wife, senor? She is not the angel she looks----"

"Are you not rather hard upon the angels, _Sereno_?"

"I don't think I quite meant to put it that way," he returned, with a laugh that seemed to come from great depths. "No, she does not look an angel--and she is not one either. It is said that when her husband misbehaves, she beats him with her washing-pin; and it is also said that more than once she has held it over the landlord himself. It may be a fable, but when a woman has no voice she is bound to find some other way of venting her spleen. I don't think the porter sleeps on a bed of roses, though his wife is named Rose, and he tries to make the best of his bargain."

"How did you leave Burgos?" we asked, feeling speculations on the porter's domestic relations unprofitable.

"Just the same as ever, senor. There was no change anywhere. The everlasting bells chime out the hours and the quarters, and the voices of a half a dozen watchmen take up the tale. The hotel grows rather worse and more unpopular, if that be possible, and for want of a good inn the town is neglected. No one ever goes there a second time. In that respect one is better off in Lerida."

We were standing near the new cathedral in the market-place, when suddenly we saw a quiet figure hurrying towards us. Even afar off we knew it well. It was our Boot-cleaner in Ordinary.

At once we felt something was wrong; the figure, in spite of quick footsteps, was tragic in its bearing. We went up to him. He grasped our hand and his face told its own tale.

"Oh, senor! the end has come, the end of a long life. Who would have thought it would be so sudden? My poor Nerissa! My life's partner, and my life's blessing! Two hours ago the heart suddenly failed. The doctor gives her until the dawn. But she is quite ready and quite resigned.

'Think what it will be, Alphonse,' she said to me just now. 'To-morrow morning I shall see once more.' Senor, I am broken-hearted. And now that she is being taken from me, I feel that I have not prized her half enough."

"You have been her joy and happiness on earth, and have an eternity of happiness to look forward to. For you and for her life is only beginning. The end of a long and happy life is a matter for rejoicing, not for sorrow."

We had no need to ask a reason for his presence there. He pa.s.sed on to fulfil his mission.

[Ill.u.s.tration: OLD CATHEDRAL: LERIDA.]

Presently a small door was opened and there issued forth in the stillness of the night an acolyte bearing a lighted lantern, followed by a priest carrying the Host. Alphonse had gone before, and we felt that the greatest kindness was to let him return alone, unhindered. The small silent procession was full of mysterious pathos and solemnity. It told of a soul about to take its solitary and awful journey to the unknown and the unseen. Seldom, we felt, would extreme unction have been administered to a soul so pure as that of our little fairy-queen. El Sereno went down on one knee as it pa.s.sed, and bared and bowed his head.

With arm outstretched resting on his staff of office, he looked quite solemn and picturesque.

"We must all come to it, senor. But I often ask myself what consolation even extreme unction can bring to a badly spent life."

We watched the little procession cross the great square, their footsteps scarcely echoing. The sacred hush and atmosphere that surrounds the dying seemed to go with them as they walked. Fitful gleams and shadows were thrown out by the lantern--they might have been shades of departed spirits. In the dark night, under the silent stars, and in that solemn moment, we seemed brought into touch with the unseen world. We felt deeply for Alphonse, who was pa.s.sing through the great sorrow of his life. His own silver cord would now loosen, and no doubt he too would quickly follow into the unseen. His wife would take with her all his hold upon life.

After this solemn incident we could only make our way back to the fonda.

El Sereno accompanied us to its threshold. We walked down the avenue between the trees, that were still whispering their mighty secrets to each other. Now they seemed laden with immortal mysteries: their burden was of souls winging their flight to realms where no torment touches them. They were in communion with the stars overhead shining down with a serene benediction.

Our portal to-night was open and the night porter was at his post, watching for his tardy visitors! wondering why they tarried. What to him was that tragedy that was pa.s.sing at the other end of the town?

We inquired for Rose. She had put up her washing-pin, and forgiven the erring waiter; the sun had not gone down upon her wrath. Had her spouse also forgiven the gay Lothario, or had they arranged for coffee and pistols?

The senor was joking. Such manner of dealing was for gentlefolk. For his part, if he owed any one a mortal grudge he would avenge himself by the short Corsican way: a stab in the dark. A short reckoning and a long rest. But he had never quarrelled in his life; never owed any man a grudge. Life was too short; he was too lazy. He thought it a good plan to let things take their course. If any one cared to embrace his wife, they were welcome to do so. He had no jealousy in his composition. She was now sleeping the sleep of the just: and for all he knew and for all he cared, her dreams were of gay Lotharios whom she was chastening with her washing-pin.

We said farewell to El Sereno, who lamented our departure on the morrow, and feared he might see us no more.

This was probable. Lerida, for all its quaint streets, old-world nooks and splendid outlines, was hardly a place to come to a second time. He moved away rather sadly, for he had his duty to perform, and the moments would not stand still.