Lastly, I plucked up courage to refer to the cries that had disturbed me in the night.

He heard me out in silence, and then stopped and partly turned about, as though to mark beyond doubt that he was dismissing me.
'Do you take tobacco powder ?' said he, offering his snuff-box; and then, when I had refused, 'I am an old man,' he added, 'and I may be allowed to remind you that you are a guest.' 'I have, then, your authority,' I returned, firmly enough, although I flushed at the implied reproof, 'to let things take their course, and not to interfere ?' He said 'yes,' and with a somewhat uneasy salute turned and left me where I was.

But he had done two things: he had set my conscience at rest, and he had awakened my delicacy.

I made a great effort, once more dismissed the recollections of the night, and fell once more to brooding on my saintly poetess.

At the same time, I could not quite forget that I had been locked in, and that night when Felipe brought me my supper I attacked him warily on both points of interest.
'I never see your sister,' said I casually.
'Oh, no,' said he; 'she is a good, good girl,' and his mind instantly veered to something else.
'Your sister is pious, I suppose ?' I asked in the next pause.
'Oh!' he cried, joining his hands with extreme fervour, 'a saint; it is she that keeps me up.' 'You are very fortunate,' said I, 'for the most of us, I am afraid, and myself among the number, are better at going down.' 'Senor,' said Felipe earnestly, 'I would not say that.