"Carlos--a lad of our company, an Andalucian," said Rollo, in answer. "I
met him by chance in the town, and he has helped me with the oxen."

The friar nodded and, letting down the rear flap of the cart, he
surveyed the melancholy harvest.

"Twelve!" he said. "Not many, but enough. The dead will guard us well
from the evil men! Ay, better than an army of twelve thousand living!"

And attiring himself in an apron of tarred stuff similar to the gloves,
he fastened another of the same material upon Rollo.

"We will now proceed to set our sentries!" he said, grimly.

As Rollo put on the gauntlets and approached to help Brother Teodoro to
draw out the corpses, Concha hovered near, half timid, and yet with a
certain decision of manner. The timidity was lest she should be refused
in that which it was upon her tongue to ask.

"Let me help the brother," she said at last; "I have nursed many--no
plague will touch me!"

The monk stared at the lad in wonder as he proffered his request. But
Rollo roughly and angrily ordered Concha back to the heads of the oxen,
which, with true Spanish fortitude, stood chewing the cud till they
should be set free and returned to their stalls.

"Is this boy by any chance your brother?" said the monk, as between them
they settled the first sheeted dead in his niche by the side of the
great door.

"Nay," said Rollo, "not my brother."

"Then of a surety he hath a great affection for you," continued the
monk. "It is a thing unusual in one of his age!"

To this Rollo did not reply, and in silence the cart was led about the
house till every door and practicable entrance was guarded by one of
these solemn warders. Then, the dead-cart being pushed within its shed
and the oxen restored to their stalls, the three went within and the
doors were locked, the bolts drawn, and everything about the Hermitage
made as secure as possible.

It was yet a good two hours from daylight, and if the gipsies were
coming that night their appearance would not be long delayed. It was
Rollo's opinion that they would attack with the first glimmer of light
from the east. For the Ermita de San Ildefonso was not like La Granja, a
place set amongst open _parterres_. It was closely guarded by tall
trees, and in the absence of a moon the darkness was intense, a faint
star-glimmer alone being reflected from the whitewashed walls of the
Hermitage.

Within, the two stout brothers and the little humorously featured
almoner