somebody who had seen him. He made sure they would deny all

knowledge of the Ingles; but on the contrary they were eager to
tell him that he had eaten and slept the night in the house. They

both started talking together, describing his appearance and
behaviour. An excitement quite fierce in its feebleness possessed

them. The doubled-up sorceress flourished aloft her wooden spoon,
the puffy monster got off her stool and screeched, stepping from

one foot to the other, while the trembling of her head was
accelerated to positivevibration. Byrne was quite disconcerted by

their excited behaviour. . . Yes! The big, fierce Ingles went away
in the morning, after eating a piece of bread and drinking some

wine. And if the caballero wished to follow the same path nothing
could be easier - in the morning.

"You will give me somebody to show me the way?" said Byrne.
"Si, senor. A proper youth. The man the caballero saw going out."

"But he was knocking at the door," protested Byrne. "He only
bolted when he saw me. He was coming in."

"No! No!" the two horrid witches screamed out together. "Going
out. Going out!"

After all it may have been true. The sound of knocking had been
faint, elusive, reflected Byrne. Perhaps only the effect of his

fancy. He asked -
"Who is that man?"

"Her NOVIO." They screamed pointing to the girl. "He is gone home
to a village far away from here. But he will return in the

morning. Her NOVIO! And she is an orphan - the child of poor
Christian people. She lives with us for the love of God, for the

love of God."
The orphan crouching on the corner of the hearth had been looking

at Byrne. He thought that she was more like a child of Satan kept
there by these two weird harridans for the love of the Devil. Her

eyes were a little oblique, her mouth rather thick, but admirably
formed; her dark face had a wild beauty, voluptuous and untamed.

As to the character of her steadfast gaze attached upon him with a
sensuously savage attention, "to know what it was like," says Mr.

Byrne, "you have only to observe a hungry cat watching a bird in a
cage or a mouse inside a trap."

It was she who served him the food, of which he was glad; though
with those big slanting black eyes examining him at close range, as

if he had something curious written on his face, she gave him an
uncomfortable sensation. But anything was better than being

approached by these blear-eyed nightmarish witches. His
apprehensions somehow had been soothed; perhaps by the sensation of

warmth after severeexposure and the ease of resting after the
exertion of fighting the gale inch by inch all the way. He had no

doubt of Tom's safety. He was now sleeping in the mountain camp
having been met by Gonzales' men.

Byrne rose, filled a tin goblet with wine out of a skin hanging on
the wall, and sat down again. The witch with the mummy face began

to talk to him, ramblingly of old times; she boasted of the inn's
fame in those better days. Great people in their own coaches

stopped there. An archbishop slept once in the CASA, a long, long
time ago.

The witch with the puffy face seemed to be listening from her
stool, motionless, except for the trembling of her head. The girl

(Byrne was certain she was a casual gipsy admitted there for some
reason or other) sat on the hearth stone in the glow of the embers.

She hummed a tune to herself, rattling a pair of castanets slightly
now and then. At the mention of the archbishop she chuckled

impiously and turned her head to look at Byrne, so that the red
glow of the fire flashed in her black eyes and on her white teeth

under the dark cowl of the enormous overmantel. And he smiled at
her.

He rested now in the ease of security. His advent not having been
expected there could be no plot against him in existence.

Drowsiness stole upon his senses. He enjoyed it, but keeping a
hold, so he thought at least, on his wits; but he must have been

gone further than he thought because he was startled beyond measure
by a fiendish uproar. He had never heard anything so pitilessly

strident in his life. The witches had started a fierce quarrel
about something or other. Whatever its origin they were now only

abusing each other violently, without arguments; their senile
screams expressed nothing but wicked anger and ferocious dismay.

The gipsy girl's black eyes flew from one to the other. Never
before had Byrne felt himself so removed from fellowship with human

beings. Before he had really time to understand the subject of the
quarrel, the girl jumped up rattling her castanets loudly. A

silence fell. She came up to the table and bending over, her eyes
in his -

"Senor," she said with decision, "You shall sleep in the
archbishop's room."

Neither of the witches objected. The dried-up one bent double was
propped on a stick. The puffy faced one had now a crutch.

Byrne got up, walked to the door, and turning the key in the
enormous lock put it coolly in his pocket. This was clearly the

only entrance, and he did not mean to be taken unawares by whatever
danger there might have been lurking outside.

When he turned from the door he saw the two witches "affiliated to
the Devil" and the Satanic girl looking at him in silence. He

wondered if Tom Corbin took the same precaution last might. And
thinking of him he had again that queer impression" target="_blank" title="n.印刷；印象；效果">impression of his nearness.

The world was perfectly dumb. And in this stillness he heard the
blood beating in his ears with a confused rushing noise, in which

there seemed to be a voice uttering the words: "Mr. Byrne, look
out, sir." Tom's voice. He shuddered; for the delusions of the

senses of hearing are the most vivid of all, and from their nature
have a compelling character.

It seemed impossible that Tom should not be there. Again a slight
chill as of stealthy draught penetrated through his very clothes

and passed over all his body. He shook off the impression" target="_blank" title="n.印刷；印象；效果">impression with an
effort.

It was the girl who preceded him upstairs carrying an iron lamp
from the naked flame of which ascended a thin thread of smoke. Her

soiled white stockings were full of holes.
With the same quiet resolution with which he had locked the door

below, Byrne threw open one after another the doors in the
corridor. All the rooms were empty except for some nondescript

lumber in one or two. And the girl seeing what he would be at
stopped every time, raising the smoky light in each doorway

patiently. Meantime she observed him with sustained attention.
The last door of all she threw open herself.

"You sleep here, senor," she murmured in a voice light like a
child's breath, offering him the lamp.

"BUENOS NOCHES, SENORITA," he said politely, taking it from her.
She didn't return the wish audibly, though her lips did move a

little, while her gaze black like a starless night never for a
moment wavered before him. He stepped in, and as he turned to

close the door she was still there motionless and disturbing, with
her voluptuous mouth and slanting eyes, with the expression of

expectant sensual ferocity of a baffled cat. He hesitated for a
moment, and in the dumb house he heard again the blood pulsating

ponderously in his ears, while once more the illusion of Tom's
voice speakingearnestly somewhere near by was specially

terrifying, because this time he could not make out the words.
He slammed the door in the girl's face at last, leaving her in the

dark; and he opened it again almost on the instant. Nobody. She
had vanished without the slightest sound. He closed the door