before he took to cotton-spinning, and I never so much as heard whether
I had any grandfather. I am plain John Mortimer of Chorley at your
service. I think you are an honest lad, sorely led astray by whimsies in
the brain, but you are honest, and in a far land. You are welcome to my
purse and, credit to any reasonable amount which will put you in the way
of repaying your obligation, as I am sure you desire to do."

"I shall not sleep sound at night till I do," returned the youth,
firmly. "But first I desire to inform you that I have had an ill opinion
of your nation--an opinion to which, in spite of your great personal
kindness and the obligation under which you place me, I am bound to
adhere."

The Englishman nodded carelessly.

"There speaks an honest man, but also a foolish one!" said Mortimer,
shaking his head; "you should try the foreign wine trade for a year or
two. It is wonderfully curbing to a man's vocabulary!"

The Scot stood a moment at gaze, manifestly debating with himself.

"And you will not accept of my sword?" he said. "I assure you it is
worth enough to discharge my small liabilities twice over."

"Swords are not legal tender in the wine business," said the other,
smiling, "nor yet when I go home with a knowledge of languages to help
sell my father's grey cloth! You are as welcome as my brother to the
loan," he added, "and I promise you I will accept repayment as gladly
from you as from him."

"You make the matter easier indeed," said Rollo Blair, recovering his
spirits with a bound. "Here, landlord, can you change this gold ounce,
or is the matter too great a one for your petty venta?"

The young men had been standing a little back, in the shadow of one of
the arches, in which were empty mangers and the rings of head-stalls, so
that the patron could not observe the passing of the Englishman's purse
from hand to hand.

"Your servant, Senor!" said the innkeeper, no Spaniard, but a French Jew
of Roussillon, "what can I have the honour of ordering for your
excellencies' supper?"

"Order yourself out of my sight!" cried the Scot imperiously. "We are
going up to the monastery to dine with my uncle the Abbot!"

The patron of the venta fell back a couple of steps, and the two serving
men ceased to grin and instead bowed most obsequiously.

"He is a nephew of the Abbot, perhaps (who knows) his son! There will be
fine doings out of this night's work, if he tells Don Baltasar all, as
he doubtless w