atskin of wine with a courteous wave of the hand. Rollo
declined equally courteously.

Then turning to his friend, who still continued to scowl, he said
abruptly, "Where is Mortimer?"

"Nay, that I know not--looking for another meal, I suppose," answered
the little Frenchman, shrugging his shoulders, one higher than the
other.

Rollo glanced at him from under his gloomy brows.

"Nay," he said, "this is serious. I need your help. Do not fail me
to-night, and help me to find Mortimer. I had not the smallest intention
of intruding upon you. Indeed, but for that maid at the inn, I should
never have found you."

"Ah," commented Etienne, half to himself, "so I owe it to that minx, do
I? Yes, it is a mistake--so close as that. But no matter; what can I do
for you?"

"It is not for myself," Rollo answered, and forthwith in a low voice
told his tale, the Frenchman assenting with a nod of the head as each
point was made clear to him.

Unconsciously they had strolled out of the village in the direction of
the Convent of the Holy Innocents, and they were almost under its walls
when the little Frenchman, looking up suddenly, recognised with a start
whither he was being led.

"Let us turn back," he said hastily; "I have forgotten an engagement!"

"What, another?" cried Rollo. "If we stay here three days you will have
the whole village on your hands, and at least half a dozen knives in
your back. But if you are afraid of the Senorita Concha, I think I can
promise you that she is not breaking her heart on your account!"

In spite of this assurance, however, Etienne was not easy in his mind
till they had turned about and were returning towards the village. But
they had not left the white walls of the Convent behind, before they
were hailed in English by a stentorian voice.

"Here, you fellows," it said, "here's a whole storehouse of onions as
big as a factory--strings and strings of 'em. I wanted to go inside to
make an offer for the lot, and the old witch at the gate slammed it in
my face."

Looking round, they saw John Mortimer standing on one leg to eke out his
stature, and squinting through a hole in the whitewashed wall. One hand
was beckoning them frantically forward, while with the other he was
trying to render his position on a sun-dried brick less precarious.

"I suppose we must go back," said Etienne, with a sigh; "imagine
standing on a brick and getting so hot and excited--in the blazing sun,
too--all for a f