“What should you imagine, Preciosa, but that the same power which has made me a gitano, has made him put on the dress of a miller, and come in search of you?  Ah, Preciosa!  Preciosa! how plain it begins to be that you pride yourself on having more than one adorer.  If this be so, finish me first, and then kill off this other, but do not sacrifice both at the same time to your perfidy.”

“God’s mercy, Andrew, how thin-skinned you are!  On how fine a thread you make your hopes and my reputation hang, since you let the cruel sword of jealousy so easily pierce your soul.  Tell me, Andrew, if there were any artifice or deceit in this case, could I not have held my tongue about this youth, and concealed all knowledge of him?  Am I such a fool that I cannot help telling you what should make you doubt my integrity and good behaviour?  Hold your tongue, Andrew, in God’s name, and try to-morrow to extract from this cause of your alarm whither he is bound, and why he is come hither.  It may be that you are mistaken in your suspicion, though I am not mistaken in what I told you of the stranger.  And now for your greater satisfaction—­since it is come to that pass with me that I seek to satisfy you—­whatever be the reason of this youth’s coming, send him away at once.  All our people obey you, and none of them will care to receive him into their huts against your wish.  But if this fails, I give you my word not to quit mine, or let myself be seen by him, or by anybody else from whom you would have me concealed.  Look you, Andrew, I am not vexed at seeing you jealous, but it would vex me much to see you indiscreet.”

“Unless you see me mad, Preciosa,” said Andrew, “any other demonstration would be far short of showing you what desperate havoc jealousy can make of a man’s feelings.  However, I will do as you bid me, and find out what this senor page-poet wants, whither he is going, and whom he is in search of.  It may be, that unawares he may let me get hold of some end of thread which shall lead to the discovery of the whole snare which I fear he is come to set for me.”

“Jealousy, I imagine,” said Preciosa, “never leaves the understanding clear to apprehend things as they really are.  Jealousy always looks through magnifying glasses, which make mountains of molehills, and realities of mere suspicions.  On your life, Andrew, and on mine, I charge you to proceed in this matter, and all that touches our concerns, with prudence and discretion; and if you do, I know that you will have to concede the palm to me, as honest, upright, and true to the very utmost.”