ut over
them a suit of clothes so torn and patched, that the poorest beggar in
the city would have disdained to wear such rags. He shaved off the
little beard he had, covered one of his eyes with a plaster, tied up one
of his legs, and hobbling along on two crutches, appeared so completely
metamorphosed into a lame beggar, that no real cripple could have looked
less of a counterfeit than he.

[80] "Men on town," _gente de barrio_, literally, people of the ward or
quarter.

In this guise he posted himself closely at the hour of evening prayer
before the door of Carrizales' house, which was fast shut, and Luis the
negro locked up between the two doors. Having taken up his position
there, Loaysa produced a greasy guitar, wanting some of its strings, and
as he was something of a musician, he began to play a few lovely airs,
and to sing Moorish ballads in a feigned voice, with so much expression
that all who were passing through the street stopped to listen. The boys
all made a ring round him when he sang, and Luis the negro, enchanted by
the virote's music, would have given one of his hands to be able to open
the door, and listen to him more at his ease, such is the fondness for
music inherent in the negro race. When Loaysa wanted to get rid of his
audience, he had only to cease singing, put up his guitar, and hobble
away on his crutches.

Loaysa four or five times repeated this serenade to the negro, for whose
sake alone he played and sang, thinking that the way to succeed in his
sap and siege was to begin by making sure of old Luis; nor was his
expectation disappointed. One night when he had taken his place as usual
before the door, and had begun to time his guitar, perceiving that the
negro was already on the alert, he put his lips to the key-hole and
whispered, "Can you give me a drop of water, Luis? I am dying with
thirst, and can't sing."

"No," said the negro, "for I have not the key of this door, and there is
no hole through which I can give you drink."

"Who keeps the key, then?"

"My master, who is the most jealous man in the world; and if he knew
that I was now talking here with any one, it were pity of my life. But
who are you who ask me for water?"

"I am a poor cripple, who get my bread by asking alms of all good people
in God's name; besides which I teach the guitar to some moriscoes, and
other poor people. Among my pupils I have three negroes, slaves to three
aldermen, whom I have taught so well tha