“It seemed a rose tree,” said Don Alvidar.

“A captive lady chained to the wall perhaps, changed by magic,” suggested Morano.

“Perhaps,” said Don Alvidar.

“A strange house for a magician,” said Rodriguez, for it sounded like any small farmhouse in Spain.

“He much affects mortal ways,” replied Don Alvidar.

Little more was then said, the fire being low:  and Rodriguez lay down to sleep while Morano guarded the captive.

And the day after that they came to Aragon, and in one day more they were across the Ebro; and then they rode west for a day along its southern bank looking all the while as they rode for Rodriguez’ castle.  And more and more silent and aloof, as they rode, grew Don Alvidar-of-the-Rose-pink-Castle-on-Ebro.

And just before sunset a cry broke from the captive.  “He has taken it!” he said.  And he pointed to just such a house as he had described, a jolly Spanish farmhouse with white walls and thatch and green shutters, and a rose tree by one of the doors just as he had told.

“The magician’s house.  But the castle is gone,” he said.

Rodriguez looked at his face and saw real alarm in it.  He said nothing but rode on in haste, a dim hope in his mind that explanations at the white cottage might do something for his lost castle.

And when the hooves were heard a woman came out of the cottage door by the rose tree leading a small child by the hand.  And the captive called to the woman, “Maria, we are lost.  And I gave my great castle with rose-pink towers that stood just here as ransom to this senor for my life.  But now, alas, I see that that magician who dwelt in the house where you are now has taken it whither we know not.”

“Yes, Pedro,” said the woman, “he took it yesterday.”  And she turned blue eyes upon Rodriguez.

And then Morano would be silent no longer.  He had thought vaguely for some days and intensely for the last few hundreds yards, and now he blurted out the thoughts that boiled in him.

“Master,” he shouted, “he has sold his cattle and bought this raiment of his, and that helmet that you opened up for him, and never had any castle on the Ebro with any towers to it, and never knew any magician, but lived in this house himself, and now your castle is gone, master, and as for his life ...”

“Be silent a moment, Morano,” said Rodriguez, and he turned to the woman whose eyes were on him still.

“Was there a castle in this place?” he said.

“Yes, senor.  I swear it,” she said.  “And my husband, though a poor man, always spoke the truth.”

“She lies,” said Morano, and Rodriguez silenced him with a gesture.

“I will get neighbours who will swear it too,” she said.

“A lousy neighbourhood,” said Morano.

Again Rodriguez silenced him.  And then the child spoke in a frightened voice, holding up a small cross that it had been taught to revere.  “I swear it too,” it said.