ew strings of onions. I declare I would not do it for
the prettiest girl in Spain!"

But there could be no doubt whatever that the Englishman was in earnest.
Indeed, he did not move from his position till they were close upon him,
and then only because the much-enduring brick resolved itself into its
component sand and sun-dried clay.

"Just look there!" he cried eagerly; "did you ever see the like of
that--a hundred double strings hung from the ceiling to the floor right
across! And the factory nearly a hundred and fifty yards long. There's a
ship-load of onions there, a solid cargo, I tell you, and I want to
trade. I believe I could make my thousand pounds quicker that way, and
onions are as good as wine any day! Look in, look in!"

To satisfy his friend, Rollo applied his eye to the aperture, and saw
that one of the Convent buildings was indeed filled with onions, as John
Mortimer had said. It was a kind of cloister open at one side, and with
rows of pillars. The wind rustling through the pendant strings filled
the place with a pleasant noise, distinctly audible even outside the
wall.

"A thousand pounds, Rollo," moaned John Mortimer, "and that old wretch
at the wicket only laughed at me, and snapped the catch in my face. They
don't understand business here. I wish I had them apprenticed to my
father at Chorley for six months, only for six months. They'd know the
difference!"

Rollo took his friend's arm and drew him away.

"This is not the time for it," he said soothingly, "wait. We are going
to the Convent to-night. The Mother Superior has permitted the lady on
whose account we are here to be removed there after dark, and we want
your help."

"Can I speak to the old woman about the onions then?"

"Certainly, if there is an opportunity," said Rollo, smiling.

"Which I take leave to doubt," thought Etienne to himself, as he
meditated on his own troubles in the matter of little Concha and the
maiden of the green lattice.

"Very well, then," said Mortimer, "I'm your man; I don't mind doing a
little cloak-and-dagger considered as trimmings--but business is
business."

The three friends proceeded venta-wards, and just as they passed the
_octroi_ gate the same muleteer who had passed them outward bound, went
in before them with the same leathern bottle in his hand. And as he
entered he tossed his hand casually towards Gaspar Perico, who sat in
the receipt of custom calmly reading an old newspaper.

"Now th