Two or three days after this adventure, I was once more seated in my large scantily-furnished room; it was about ten, of a dark melancholy morning, and the autumnal rain was again falling.  I had just breakfasted, and was about to sit down to my journal, when the door was flung open and in bounded Antonio.

“Mon maitre,” said he, quite breathless, “who do you think has arrived?”

“The pretender, I suppose,” said I, in some trepidation; “if so, we are prisoners.”

“Bah, bah!” said Antonio, “it is not the pretender, but one worth twenty of him; it is the Swiss of Saint James.”

“Benedict Mol, the Swiss!” said I, “What! has he found the treasure?  But how did he come?  How is he dressed?”

“Mon maitre,” said Antonio, “he came on foot if we may judge by his shoes, through which his toes are sticking; and as for his dress, he is in most villainous apparel.”

“There must be some mystery in this,” said I; “where is he at present?”

“Below, mon maitre,” replied Antonio; “he came in quest of us.  But I no sooner saw him, than I hurried away to let you know.”

In a few minutes Benedict Mol found his way up stairs; he was, as Antonio had remarked, in most villainous apparel, and nearly barefooted; his old Andalusian hat was dripping with rain.

“Och, lieber herr,” said Benedict, “how rejoiced I am to see you again.  Oh, the sight of your countenance almost repays me for all the miseries I have undergone since I parted with you at Saint James.”

Myself.—­I can scarcely believe that I really see you here at Oviedo.  What motive can have induced you to come to such an out-of-the-way place from such an immense distance?

Benedict.—­Lieber herr, I will sit down and tell you all that has befallen me.  Some few days after I saw you last, the canonigo persuaded me to go to the captain-general to apply for permission to disinter the schatz, and also to crave assistance.  So I saw the captain-general, who at first received me very kindly, asked me several questions, and told me to come again.  So I continued visiting him till he would see me no longer, and do what I might I could not obtain a glance of him.  The canon now became impatient, more especially as he had given me a few pesetas out of the charities of the church.  He frequently called me a bribon and impostor.  At last, one morning I went to him, and said that I had proposed to return to Madrid, in order to lay the matter before the government, and requested that he would give me a certificate to the effect that I had performed a pilgrimage to Saint James, which I imagined would be of assistance to me upon the way, as it would enable me to beg with some colour of authority.  He no sooner heard this request, than, without saying a word or allowing me a moment to put myself on my defence, he sprang upon me like a tiger, grasping my throat so hard that I thought he would have strangled