omest thou?" demanded the Father Miguel, advancing a
space toward the stranger, but not in threatening wise; whereat the
aged man stopped in his course and lifted his eyebrows, and regarded
the Father a goodly time, but he spake no word.

"In whose name comest thou?" repeated the priestly man. "Upon these
mountains have we lifted up the cross of our blessed Lord in the name
of our sovereign liege, and here have we set down a tabernacle to the
glory of the Virgin and of her ever-blessed son, our Redeemer and
thine,--whoso thou mayest be!"

"Who is thy king I know not," quoth the aged man, feebly; "but the
shrine in yonder wall of rock I know; and by that symbol which I see
therein, and by thy faith for which it stands, I conjure thee, as thou
lovest both, give me somewhat to eat and to drink, that betimes I may
go upon my way again, for the journey before me is a long one."

These words spake the old man in tones of such exceeding sadness that
the Father Miguel, touched by compassion, hastened to meet the
wayfarer, and, with his arms about him, and with whisperings of sweet
comfort, to conduct him to a resting-place. Coarse food in goodly
plenty was at hand; and it happily fortuned, too, that there was a
homely wine, made by Pietro del y Saguache himself, of the wild grapes
in which a neighboring valley abounded. Of these things anon the old
man partook, greedily but silently, and all that while he rolled his
eyes upon the shrine; and then at last, struggling to his feet, he made
as if to go upon his way.

"Nay," interposed the Father Miguel, kindly; "abide with us a season.
Thou art an old man and sorely spent. Such as we have thou shalt have,
and if thy soul be distressed, we shall pour upon it the healing balm
of our blessed faith."

"Little knowest thou whereof thou speakest," quoth the old man, sadly.
"There is no balm can avail me. I prithee let me go hence, ere,
knowing what manner of man I am, thou hatest me and doest evil unto
me." But as he said these words he fell back again even then into the
seat where he had sat, and, as through fatigue, his hoary head dropped
upon his bosom.

"Thou art ill!" cried the Father Miguel, hastening to his side. "Thou
shalt go no farther this day! Give me thy staff,"--and he plucked it
from him.

Then said the old man: "As I am now, so have I been these many hundred
years. Thou hast heard tell of me,--canst thou not guess my name;
canst thou not read my sorrow i