The Man Of Almonacid

I am free to conf ess now that when I flrst heard of him I took him for a swindler. When I heard that Toledo had been his home for ten whole months - Toledo, which livs only by moonlight, and is the mere corpse of a city in the sunshine - when I heard of a modesty so very retiring, and remembered that England had no extradition treaty with Spain, my only wonder was as to the sum of his spoils. Was he a defaulter for thirty thousand pounds, or a petty rogue of all work? "Ten months! That is a long time I" I said to Donna Mercedes, my informant, and the eider of the two oíd maids who kept the Casa de Huespedes, in which I f ound that I had this stranger for a neighbor. "One might see the antiquities even of Toledo in that time." "Truly," she answered; "but then, Don lago is a painter." "Ah, now I understandl" I replied, with a great inerease of cheerfulness. "One might paint Toledo for ten yearsand not have done. I, too, am a painter." "And no doubt," said the old dame, beaming upon me through her round rimmedspectacles, "Don lago will be known to you?" I took up the visitors' book, in whieh th sand had not yet dried my autograph. "James Clent," I said, reading the name to which she pointed. "No, I do not know him." Dona Mercedes was puzzled, being scarcely able to understand that two Englishmen, even two English artlsts, might be strancers to one another. But presently she crossed herself. "Don lago is an oíd Christian," sha said softly, 'and so went off with her book, benevolent still, but conscious, I fear, of a serpent in her Eden. Eden was our boarding house. From a paved alley, the Calle del Arzobispo, you turned into an archway and groped fora door up three steps in the darkest corner. Then you pulled a weight which hung there and by and by the iron studded door opened as of itself and lol a tiny courtyard, in which four orange trees in tubs produeed an effect of somber gayety. Round this patio, at the level of a first floor, ran a veranda, reached by an uncovered staircase. All the rooms opened on to this veranda. On the right hand side were four little bedrooms. On the side which faced the entrance was the common parlor and on the left the kitchen and the old ladies' room, at a window of which one was always sitting ready to open the outer door with a cord whenever the bell jangled. It was all very plain and primitive, but clean, and looking round my bedroom, which had whitewashed walls, and a matted floor, and for furniture a bed, a stool, a basin and a brasero, I found no cause to regret the dingy hotel I had left. When I passed No. 1, on my way to dinner, the door was ajar, and Dona Mercedes was inside with a lamp in her hand. I paused before the door, and she, looking up, sawme. "Ah!" she said proudly, "did I not teil you that Don lago was a painter? See here!" And she threw her light upon a picture which was resting on an easel before the window. I saw at once that it wasnotbadly painted. There was a show of facility about it. And yet it was mediocre, surprising me less by its execution than its subject. Here in Toledo, the grand and bizarre, in the midst of such architectural beauty and grotesqueness as lairiy oewiiaereü an artist's eye, my neighbor had not painted a Street scene, a Moorish gateway , or a leaf y cloister. He had chosen instead a country landscape almost as cotnmonplace as it was dreary ; a gray house and a gray, sloping olive grove, and round them bleak, wind swept uplands. I was scarcely moro astonished to flnd that I knew the place. I had passed it the day beíore in my walk from Torrijos- walking is a whim of mine - aud is was íully seven miles from Toledo. At the time I said something prettyto Dona Mercedes, and went on to the parlor. My neighbor was late. I had nearly flnished when he entered. He was a man of 35, perhaps, with a thín, careworn face andlines below the temples. He was about my height, wearing his hair and mustache cut short a blonde, and English looking. He had probably heard of my arrival, yet he seemed put out at sight of me- perhaps merely because he was late. "I have left the head of the table for you," I said, half rising, politely. "You have been here some time, I understand." He was breaking his bread into morsels and eating with a worried air. "Yes; the placo suits me," he answered rather curtly. "Yet you like to hear the lark sing as well as the mouse squeak," I replied, smiling. His tone was not encouraging, but I wished to b agreeable. "If I am not mistaken, I met you yesterday." "Not that I am aware of," he said, with a hasty glanee at me, and then devotod himself to his soup with renewed zest. "No? Or. the pathway- I cannot cali it a road- from Torrijos? About 2 o'eloek?" He shook his head. "You are mistaken," he answered. "I was not outside the town yesterday," "Then I sawa man very like you!"' I rejoined, nettled by his marnier. "There is a ruined castle, called Almonacid, I believe, about a mile this side of Torrijos. As I was passing it I saw an Englishman, and an artist also, if a portfolio makes an artist, leave it and make quiekly' for the villago before me. Somehow I missed him anrong the houses, and was too far from him at any time to see his features distinctly. But he was wearing elothes like jours." "And like yours, too, I presume," he rejoined sharply. He had a way of waiting for you, and taking you up suddenly, of which this was my flrst experience. "Just sol" I said, for he was right; we were dressed alike. "But I am not aware that the mirage oecurs in Spain. Perhaps you know Almonacid?" "No," he replied, more equably, as if he were ashamed of his show of temper. "I have heard of it. But it is too far for my legs, and I cannot afford horse hire. I sometimes walk out in that direction, but not half as far." I made a hasty calculation. Almonacid was mne mués irom Toledo. The gray house and solitary olive grove were at least seven. So that when my friend said that he had not been halí as far as Almonacid, he was not quite truthful, since he must have been to the scène of his picture. But it was no business of mine. He was a good looking man, and that whieh took hini to the dreary farm house might well be a love intrigue - a thing dangerous to enter upon in Spain, more dangerous still to meddle with. I changed the subject. I had had a diflïculty aboutmy letters. The postmaster had refused to give them to me because I had not my passport with me. Later the office had been closed. I told Clont this, and he listened, but his thoughts seemed far away, and when I had done he said, "No doubt you will get them to-morrow," in a perfunctory way, with scarcely a show of sympathy. "I hope I shall," I answered, annoyed that he made so little of it. "I do not know what I shall do if I fail to get them." "Oh, you will get them," ho repeated He was wrong, as it turned out. But so was I when I went to bed, vowing I hated him. I did not take into account the change whieh twenty-four hours may make in our feelings. Just one day later I could not have identifled the surly man I have described with my friend James Clent- James Clent, who had by that time rescued me from a most unpleasant position, and proved triumphantly that under his rough manner he had a sound heart. It all arose out of the letters. I called at the postoffioe next morning and handed in my passport. Ten minutes afterward I issued from the door dazed and bewildered, at my wits' end what to do. A few paces onward I ran against some one, and, muttering "Perdone usted I" would have passed on without looking up if the mau had not seized me by the arm. It was Clent. "What is it, Mr. Lynton?" he cried good humoredly. "Have some senorita's eyes shot home? Or- but what is it? Can I help you? And he drew me out of the sunshine into the shade of the COVered wav which runs rniinrt the 7fwi. dover, the great square of Toledo. "Some one has intercepted my letters," I stammered. "A Spaniard called for them this morning, presented one of my visiting cards, and said I was at the Fonda de Lino - where I did stay one night. All that I can get out of the postmaster is that he gave up the letters and that all was done in order. Confoundhis stolidity! One of them containedL50!" He whistled. "Then there is no time to be lost, Mr. Lynton," he cried. "Let us go flrst to the Fonda. It is possible that some busybody, knowing you did not get your letters yesterday, has fetched them for you on the chance oí getting a peseta for his pains." I gladly assented, and we weut together to the hotel. But no one there would confess to knowing anything of my letter. No one had gone for them. As we lef t the yard I noticed that my companion looked keenly at the waiter, who was not too civil. "Do you suspect hitn?' I asked, when we were outsido. "I hardly know," Clent answered slowly. "Possibly you mislaidacard thenightyou slept there, so that he is one of the people to be suspected. But come, we will go now to the postoffiee. I will help you as far as I can." And indeed he did. His knowledgo of the language was perfect, and it was wonderf ui to hear him scolding, questioning and complaining, without end of the wrongs his influeutial friend, whose passport he was waving under their official noses, had suffered. But when presently everything had been tried, and for the time tried fruitlessly, wo stood in the square and looked somewhat blankly at one another. "I say, Mr. Lynton," he began, "flfty pounds is a large sum to lose!" "I wish it were less," I replied, with an attempt at sprightliness. "It does not cripple you altogether?" "I can afford it, if that is what you mean But - but it is a little inconveuient at present," I answered. "It puts you in a difflculty for a few days?" "Precisely. I cannot receive another remittance for flve days at least. In the meantime I have six - yes, seven pesetas and a half." "ümph! Cali it six shillings and threepence," he replied, laughing. "The cathedral vergere will soon ease you of it, even were it more. But look herel we are next door neighbors, and you must let me help you. In a strange country I alvvays keep a few pounds by me; they are at your service." As he spoke he drew from an inner pocket a shabby letter case and took out a 'M) pesta note - the only note, I saw, that the case contained. "I am afraiel," I said, doubtfully, "that I am inconveniencing you. And besides, you do not know me." "I shall not need the money," he replied, quickly, "and as to my knowing you, I thiuk I do- not you, personally, but your kind." "That is well said!" I exclaimed with heartiness, "and I accept your offer on ono condition- that if you want the money bef ore Sunday you will teil me so." "Why, iL I do," he replied, laughing merrily, "you will have spent half of it." "So I shall," I said, laughing myself, "but I havo a watch, and Toledo, no doubt, has a -let me cali it a Mont de Píete." "Ciertamente!" he cried gayly, and with a word about meeting at dinner, walked rapidly away, leaving me to my thoughts. I watched him as he threaded his way across the square botween laden asses and graceful girls with pitchers, and comparing his slight upright form with the somber Spaniards who strutted up and down, keeping, even on this sunny day, a corner of the capa over the mouth, I feit proud of my countryman. "I do not think," I said penitently to Jock (I hare not mentioned Jock before, although he was at that time my constant companion - a collie dog with the long Scotch head and the tenderest eyes), "I do not think that I shall be so quick to judge the next man wo meet- and do not understai.d. Ah, thesa hasty judgments, Jockl" ani I shook niy head, and Joek his tail. In due course a second remittance came to hand, and I repaid my friend. By that time some of the wonder I had feit at his solitary lifo in Toledo- Toledo the somber - had passed away. He was not altogether solitary, putting myself out of the question. More than once, in the archway or on the veranda, I met a priest coming from his room- a smal], dark, thin faced man with vivid eyes, a Spaniard, of course, who lifted his low erowneu oeaver to me and bowecl politely. Once, too, I had a glimpse of a petticoat whisking out. Moreover, Clent seemed to be doing a better trade than I had judged probable from the specimen of his work whichl had seen. Not that he told me this himself. He was reserved on the subject, neither offerine to show me lus pictures nor accepting my proposal tfcat we should do some work together. But our letters sometimes lay on a slab inside the outer door, and I could not avoid seeing that hereceived several- dealers' letters, I was sure- from art centers- from Dresden and Munich, for instance. Once there was a letter bearing the postmark of St. Petersburg. This seemed strange in a man of his caliber; in a man who was not known to me. And, perhaps, besides puzzling me, it a little nettled mealso. My name was not altogether unknown. Clent himself had said pretty things about his acquaintanoe with it. Vt. T hA nn .„_ tinental patrons, no market outside Great Britain. If I had fallen in with him at Madrid or Seville I should have known what to thinkI should have set him down as one of those' copyists who live by all great galleries. And something upon which I lit one day in his room persuaded me for a time that this was the case, few as were the works in Toledo that could pay for the labor of copying. It was a picture, and the only one I saw at any time in his possession, save the somber landscape of which I have spoken. I had run short of chrome yellow, and hearing him go to his room followed to ask him if he could let me have some "I suppose I cannot get any chrome yellow in Toledo?" I began before I was well in the room, "nor anywhere nearer than Madrid?" He was kneeling on the floor, but sprang up so quickly at the sound of my voice that I hastened to apologize for entering without knocking. He did not seem, at once to understand me. He had been poring over something placed on the ground where ït would catch the best light, and his first aim appeared to be to move so as to hide this from me. "What is ití" he cried harshly ' What do you want?" Even by that light I could see that his face was pale "My dear fellow," I said, not trying to hide my surprise, "I am sorry that I entered without ceremony, and I have told you so 1 carne in for nothing in the world but to ask you if any enrome yellow can be got nearer than Madrid. I was so full of my wants that, seeing the door was unlatched I did not knock at it." "Was it unlatched?" he asked, glaneing at me askanee. 6 I shrugged my shoulders. "Look for yourself," I said curtly. He stepped forward and saw what I had already noticed-that the bolt was shot but not mto the socket. Something like a stifled curso escaped him. He turned, muttering that I could onlyget the material I needed in Madrid. "That is unfortunate. But what have you got here?" I asked, advancing a step into the room. "What a canit.nl hit nt ,,„ ,„.„„, n. isa Ribera, is it not? It must be!" And forgetting in my eagerness everything save that I had before me a singularly good copy of a fine picture, I actually waved him asido when he would have interposed "No one but Ribera," I cried, stooping over it "could paintthose lights and shadows I No one I It is a genuino Spagnoletto for a hundred!" "It is a copy!" burst f rom him in a tone of vivid contradietion. "A copy!" I repeated after him in wonder A copy! Of course it is. So I supposed. Riberas do not grow on every bush, my friend. I meant that the original was a Ribera, and not merely of his school. But uow yvu speaK or it," ana 1 went down on ray knees, "are you so sure that it is a eopy? How bright are these high lights, yet how mellow! And see the depth of the coloring here, and the tawny tone over all! By heavens," I said, rising and facing him abruptly, "it is not a copy!" "Itis!" he cried furiously; "I say it is! Do Riberas grow on every bush, madman?" The word and the passion he threw into it sobered me at once. "I beg your pardon," I said, "I forgot myself. I am sorry for' it. But the opinión I have uttered is my opinión stil!. And if I do not mako a mistake," I went on eyeing him shrewdly, "it isyo'urs, too. I fancy, my friend, that you had just made the diseovery when I came in, and that you dared hardly to entertain it. It is no wonder that such a thing threw you off your balance." For he was trembling still, and glancing from me to the painting and back again in a distraught fashion. "Yes," he said at length, getting out his words with difficulty, "I thought it possible, just possible, but how very, very improbable!" "Yes, very improbable, if, as I suppose, you bought the picture for a copy. But wnere aia you get it" I asked briskly. I thought that I was beginning to understand him. "I bought it from a priest for an old song at Almonaeid." "At Almonacid?" He movod uneasily, as if he would hare recalled his last word. But it was too lato, and he nodded assent. "Then af ter all it was you wliom I saw that day?" I commented. "You had just bought it, I suppose." "Yes, I had a doubt about it then." "It is a strange story, but strange things happen," I said, watching him narrowly "It istmo." Oí courso I pretended to believe him, and soeing clearly that he wished me gone I took myseli to my room. In part I did believp him, only I thought it strange that an artisfc of bis kidney should be so greatly ashamed of ha ving outwitted an old monk; so greatly ashamed as to teil the story of his cleverness in that hang dog fashion. It crossed my muid that I might be wrong in my judgmeut of tlie iicture. It might bo that the St. Christopher was only a copy after all, and Clent himself had mada it, and was even then when I broko in upon him ha ving it out with his conscienco whether he should pass it ofT for an original or not. That was possible; but to me he had been a friend in need, and it was no business of mine. The next day, the 17th of January, was to be the last of my stay in Toledo. I had all but finished the sketches I required, and if the truth must be told, I longed to be away. The stillness of the place haunted me. I hated the huge square alcázar which towered over all the Moorish gateways, the hundred silent churches. By noon I had made an aad of my work, and hastily putting asiiia my materials I called Jock and started for a long ramble over the hills, where the alcázar did not bar the sunshine, though it was impossiblo to get out of sight of it. I did not return until darkness drove me back into the tovrn. Then I saw at once that there was something strange on foot. In the streets was an unwonted bustle, which rather grew thau lessened as I approached the middle of tha town. Knots of people carrying fagota passed hurriedly or stood together at the street corners. The Zocodover was throngod. As- in part curious and in part amioyed- ] was pushing my way through the crowd, a clock struck 6, and, set in motion by that signal, the belLs in every tower burst into sound. I was brought to a standstill. I had just time to wonder what it meant, when as by magie the bright glare of a hundred fires leaped up above the crowd, and glowing hotly on pillar and gable, flung hugo shadows on the very steeples, and exposed at once a hundred silhouettes. lt was a weird yet a beautiful sight. It pleased me to find it repeated in evey street and open space I entered. I spent fully an hour, tired as I was, in hurrying up and down to mark tho effect of the firelight on this facade or that archway. And when at lengtii I tore myself away and went home, I made quickly for the parlor to talk of what I had [CONTINUED IN OUB NKXT.]