verend
father asked Rodriguez in what other affairs of violence his sword had
unhappily been. And Rodriguez knew well the history of that sword,
having gathered all that concerned it out of spoken legend or song. And
although the reverend man frowned minatorily whenever he heard of its
passings through the ribs of the faithful, and nodded as though his
head gave benediction when he heard of the destruction of God's most
vile enemy the infidel, and though he gasped a little through his lips
when he heard of certain tarryings of that sword, in scented gardens,
while Christian knights should sleep and their swords hang on the wall,
though sometimes even a little he raised his hands, yet he leaned
forward always, listening well, and picturing clearly as though his
gleaming eyes could see them, each doleful tale of violence or sin. And
so night came, and began to wear away, and neither knew how late the
hour was. And then as Rodriguez spoke of an evening in a garden, of
which some old song told well, a night in early summer under the
evening star, and that sword there as always; as he told of his
grandfather as poets had loved to tell, going among the scents of the
huge flowers, familiar with the dark garden as the moths that drifted
by him; as he spoke of a sigh heard faintly, as he spoke of danger
near, whether to body or soul; as the reverend father was about to
raise both his hands; there came a thunder of knockings upon the locked
green door.

THE THIRD CHRONICLE

HOW HE CAME TO THE HOUSE OF WONDER

It was the gross Morano. Here he had tracked Rodriguez, for where la
Garda goes is always known, and rumour of it remains long behind them,
like the scent of a fox. He told no tale of his escape more than a dog
does who comes home some hours late; a dog comes back to his master,
that is all, panting a little perhaps; someone perhaps had caught him
and he escaped and came home, a thing too natural to attempt to speak
of by any of the signs that a dog knows.

Part of Morano's method seems to have resembled Rodriguez', for just as
Rodriguez spoke Latin, so Morano fell back upon his own natural speech,
that he as it were unbridled and allowed to run free, the coarseness of
which had at first astounded, and then delighted, la Garda.

"And did they not suspect that you were yourself?" said Rodriguez.

"No, master," Morano answered, "for I said that I was the brother of
the King of Aragon."

"The King of Aragon!" R