oots soled by him; but
being very great and rich people, they demanded long credit, so that he
was heard to say that a rich man's money was almost as scarce as virtue.

Now, one night, when he was about to close his shop, a lovely young
widow lady pushed her way by him into the shop, and sitting on the only
chair in the room, she bid him close the door immediately, as she had
something to say to him in confidence.

Being a true Spaniard, he showed no surprise, but obeyed orders, and
stood before the young widow lady, who, after looking at him carefully
for a minute, implored him to go upstairs and see that the windows were
secure and the shutters barred and bolted.

This done, he again stood before her, when she showed signs of fear, and
requested him to ensure against the doors being burst open by piling
what furniture he had against them and against the shutters; and then,
assuring herself that she was safe, she exclaimed--

"Ah, friend Sancho, it is good to beware of evil tongues. I come to you
because I know you to be honest and silent. To-night you must sleep on
the roof; get out through the skylight, and I will rest here."

To refuse a lady's commands, however singular they may be, is not in
the nature of a Spaniard, so Sancho got out through the skylight, when
the young widow began screaming, "Let me out, kind people--let me out!"

The cobbler was now very much afraid of the consequences, especially as
the night watchmen were banging against the street door, which they soon
forced, knocking all the furniture which had been placed against it into
the middle of the room.

When inside, they discovered the lovely young widow, who exclaimed--

"Good men, I am Guiomar, of Torrezon, widow of the noble Pedro de
Torrezon, and because my late husband was owing Sancho for soling a pair
of boots, I came here to pay the debt; but Sancho would have detained me
against my will. He is concealed on the roof of the house, and if you
leave me here he will murder me."

Then she naturally fainted and screamed for so long a time that the
street was soon full of people who, hearing what had happened, cried out
against Sancho.

The watchmen having secured him, he was led before the alcaide, and,
being a poor man, he was sent to prison until such time as Donna
Guiomar should feel disposed to pardon him.

At the end of a year Donna Guiomar obtained his liberty, but on the
condition that he should forthwith proceed to Rome and