As he invariably used this last expression when he wished to evade my inquiries, I held my peace, and said no more; the animals were fed, and we proceeded to make a frugal repast on bread and wine.

“Why do you not cook the game which I brought?” I demanded; “in this place there is plenty of materials for a fire.”

“The smoke might discover us, brother,” said Antonio, “I am desirous of lying escondido in this place until the arrival of the messenger.”

It was now considerably past noon; the gypsy lay behind the thicket, raising himself up occasionally and looking anxiously towards the hill which lay over against us; at last, with an exclamation of disappointment and impatience, he flung himself on the ground, where he lay a considerable time, apparently ruminating; at last he lifted up his head and looked me in the face.

Antonio.—­Brother, I cannot imagine what business brought you to this country.

Myself.—­Perhaps the same which brings you to this moor—­business of Egypt.

Antonio.—­Not so, brother; you speak the language of Egypt, it is true, but your ways and words are neither those of the Cales nor of the Busne.

Myself.—­Did you not hear me speak in the foros about God and Tebleque?  It was to declare his glory to the Cales and Gentiles that I came to the land of Spain.

Antonio.—­And who sent you on this errand?

Myself.—­You would scarcely understand me were I to inform you.  Know, however, that there are many in foreign lands who lament the darkness which envelops Spain, and the scenes of cruelty, robbery, and murder which deform it.

Antonio.—­Are they Calore or Busne?

Myself.—­What matters it?  Both Calore and Busne are sons of the same God.

Antonio.—­You lie, brother, they are not of one father nor of one Errate.  You speak of robbery, cruelty, and murder.  There are too many Busne, brother; if there were no Busne there would be neither robbery nor murder.  The Calore neither rob nor murder each other, the Busno do; nor are they cruel to their animals, their law forbids them.  When I was a child I was beating a burra, but my father stopped my hand, and chided me.  “Hurt not the animal,” said he; “for within it is the soul of your own sister!”

Myself.—­And do you believe in this wild doctrine, O Antonio?

Antonio.—­Sometimes I do, sometimes I do not.  There are some who believe in nothing; not even that they live!  Long since, I knew an old Caloro, he was old, very old, upwards of a hundred years,—­and I once heard him say, that all we thought we saw was a lie; that there was no world, no men nor women, no horses nor mules, no olive trees.  But whither are we straying?  I asked what induced you to come to this country—­you tell me the glory of God and Tebleque.  Disparate! tell that to the Busne.  You have good reasons for coming, no doubt, else you would not be here.  Some say you are a spy of the Londone, perhaps you are; I care not.  Rise, brother, and tell me whether any one is coming down the pass.”