‘Then it remains for us to close this foolish incident, my dear Julia; and for me to remind you, seeing that you are fatherless, that there are in Spain many adventurers who come here seeking the sport of love or war, who will ride away when they have had their fill of either.’
He ceased speaking with a tolerant laugh, as one who, being a soldier himself, would beg indulgence for the failings of his comrades, examined the hilt of his sword, and then looked blandly round on three faces which resolutely refused to class the absent Englishman in this category.
‘It remains, my dear niece, to satisfy the Alcalde—a mere glance at the letter—sufficient to satisfy him as to the nature of its contents.’
‘I have no letter,’ said Julia quietly, with her level red lips set hard.
‘Not in your possession, but perhaps concealed in some place near at hand—unless it is destroyed.’
‘I have destroyed no letter, I have concealed no letter, and I have no letter,’ said the girl quietly. Estella moved uneasily in the chair. Her face was colourless and her eyes shone. She watched her cousin’s face intently, and beneath his shaggy brows the old priest’s eyes went from one fair countenance to the other.
‘Then,’ cried the General, rising to his feet with an air of relief, ‘you have but to assure the Alcalde of this, and the whole incident is terminated. Blown over, my dear Concha—blown over!’
He tapped the priest on the shoulder with great good nature. Indeed, the world seemed sunny enough and free from cares when General Vincente had to deal with it.
‘Yes—yes,’ said the Padre, snuff-box in hand. ‘Blown over—of course.’
‘Then I may send the Alcalde to you, Julia—and you will tell him what you have told us? He cannot but take the word of a lady.’
‘That is well,’ he cried, ‘I knew we could safely rely upon your good sense. Kiss me, Julia—that is well! Come, Estella—we must not keep the horses waiting.’
With a laugh and a nod he went towards the door. ‘Blown over, my dear Concha,’ he said over his shoulder.
A few minutes later the priest walked down the avenue of walnut trees alone. The bell was ringing for vespers, but the Padre was an autocratic shepherd and did not hurry towards his flock. The sun had set, and in the hollows of the distant mountains the shades of night already lay like a blue veil.