f in spite of his fatigue, appointed himself to keep
guard for the remainder of the night, fearing attack of some evil
giant or beast upon all the beauty that was slumbering within. They,
who were aware of his peculiar weakness, returned thanks in their most
gracious manner; and when they were alone with the Judge they hastened
to explain the knight's mental state. The Judge was much amused by the
accounts of his adventures and his attempts to revive knight errantry
in Spain.

There was only one unhappy being in the inn that night: that was
Sancho Panza. He was not at all pleased with his master's staying up
at such a late hour. But there seemed nothing he could do about it, so
he retired and spread himself comfortably on the trappings of his
donkey.

While Don Quixote was guarding the castle, and dawn was approaching,
Dorothea, who had lain awake, was suddenly stirred by the sound of a
man's voice, a voice so beautiful that it seemed to her there could be
none sweeter in the world. Then Cardenio was awakened by it, and he
felt that he ought to share the joy of hearing it with the ladies, so
he went to the garret to call their attention to it. When he knocked
on the door and told them, Dorothea called out that they were already
listening. The only one not awake at that time was Dona Clara, the
Judge's fair daughter.

CHAPTER XLIII

WHEREIN IS RELATED THE PLEASANT STORY OF THE MULETEER, TOGETHER
WITH OTHER STRANGE THINGS THAT CAME TO PASS IN THE INN

Dorothea and the other ladies were in a quandary as to whether to
awake Dona Clara or not. Finally they decided that she would be sorry
if she had to learn what she had missed and would regret that they had
not awakened her; so they shook her until she opened her eyes and then
asked her to sit up in bed and listen. But scarcely had she heard one
note, before she began to sob hysterically. She threw her arms around
Dorothea and cried: "Why, oh, why did you wake me, dear lady? The
greatest kindness fortune could do me now would be to close my eyes
and ears so that I could neither see nor hear that unhappy musician!"

Dorothea was at a loss to know what had happened to the child. All the
while she was trying to soothe her, the tears were streaming down the
young girl's face, and she was trembling like a leaf. Finally she
quieted her feelings sufficiently to be able to confide to Dorothea in
a whispering voice the story of her romance with the singer, who, she
sa