o orange tinged with a smoky
scarlet. The sun would not long delay, and there was a little matter out
in the garden which must be arranged.

As Rollo anticipated, Tomas the scapegrace did not look handsome as he
lay on the upturned soil. The blood had hardened upon the bruise on his
crown where his own spade in El Sarria's hands had beaten him down, much
as a gardener might level a rank stinging nettle.

"Carry him within," he ordered; "we will attend to his case better
indoors!"

Already with spade and mattock Rollo was filling up the grave, stamping
down the soil with his foot as he proceeded. Then after having laid away
the tools in the little temple, he followed El Sarria upstairs. Tomas
was lying very limp and still on the table from which the trinkets had
been gathered into the box, and El Sarria, who gave himself no concern
about his handiwork, was bending over the box of jewellery, rapidly
throwing out all articles which he did not recognise as belonging to his
wife or himself.

Rollo reminded him of his gun which he had left in the dry river-bed,
and El Sarria set off to fetch it lest it should be recognised.

Then Rollo, who was now thoroughly enjoying himself "in the belly of an
adventure" as he expressed it, called out, "Lay down that pistol,
mother, we shall not need it for a while, and do you give me a hand with
this rascal's sore head. What think you of it?"

"The stroke was dealt with a strong arm," said La Giralda, critically.
"I saw it done--also heard it. It sounded like the driving in of a
gate-post. But yet, most unfortunately, I do not think the man will
die--unless--unless"--she fingered the keen little knife she carried
lovingly--"unless indeed matters are a little assisted."

"Stop, mother; we cannot afford to have any _Barranco de los Martires_
business this time! We are not in Granada within the gipsy barrio,
remember, nor yet within hearing of the bells of Sevilla. Do as I bid
you, and help me to bathe and bind up the scoundrel's pate."

The old woman did so with an air of protest, finally, however,
consenting to make a plaster of certain herbs which she found in the
household cabinet of simples, and having boiled them, applied the result
like a turban to Don Tomas's unconscious crown.

All the while she murmured bitterly at intervals, "It is a pity! A pity!
I do not believe he will die--unless, in spite of the Englishman, La
Giralda has the nursing of him!"

Presently Ramon retur